


First Burn

by Danagirl623



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Cheating, Divorce, F/M, Female Masturbation, Hamilton References, M/M, Marriage, Masturbation, Smut, Wedding, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danagirl623/pseuds/Danagirl623
Summary: I am at it again. I listened to "First Burn" from the Hamilton people.I became obsessed.If you haven't watched the video, you should.I don't own the lyrics or the characters.Thanks again to my fabulous friendHoldt!!!Comment and kudos are appreciated!





	1. Naive

**Author's Note:**

> I'm burning the letters you wrote me  
> You can stand over there if you want  
> I don't know who you are  
> I have so much to learn  
> I'm re-reading your letters  
> And watching them burn (burn)  
> I'm watching them burn (burn)
> 
>  
> 
> Those lyrics match this part of the story.

Life at 221B Baker Street was about as normal as it could get these days. John and Sherlock solved crimes, raised Rosie, and lived a life together. John had stopped being a doctor a few years ago and was focused on writing as his job. He had published several novels of his exploits as Sherlock’s sidekick. He still updated his blog. 

Sherlock still slept at weird hours of the day, but sleep he did. Sometimes there were still body parts in the fridge next to Rosie’s school lunch. The wall-shooting episodes had been laid to bed. There was a young child at the apartment. It wouldn’t do to injure the wee Watson girl. 

The only difference these days were that John Watson wasn’t always there. Sherlock would spend hours, or days, in his mind palace, and wake to find that John had not been to the apartment in days. 

 

John Watson was living a double life. 

He had his life with Sherlock, the exciting rush of cases, heads in fridges, and yes, sex with Sherlock too. But when the day was all but spent, he would leave Sherlock’s apartment and return home to his wife. Or on other days he would spend all day with Rosie and Mary playing happy family only to return to Baker Street (and Sherlock’s bed) at midnight. 

John’s wife, Mary Watson, was used to the odd schedule John kept. She had been there from the moment Sherlock returned from the dead. She had pushed them back together while pushing John towards marriage. Everything in her world was colored by John’s schedule. When Mary would try to ask him to stay, John would pull away from her with a gentle reminder that he had to turn in another 100 pages to keep food on the table. 

It wasn’t a fair life at all for the Watsons. If John’s continued marriage to Mary bothered Sherlock he never once complained. As ever, John Watson was more committed to Sherlock Holmes and his work than anything else in life.

  
  


_ Mary _

 

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I was in the midst of a catheter change on bed 5. This patient hated having a cath change, but for some reason always let me do it. Bed 5 had been at the hospital for nearly 6 weeks after a hip replacement. This patient should be in a facility, but the patient belonged to someone rich. So they paid for the hospital to privately treat them. I hate Bed 5.  

My phone buzzed again. 

It wasn’t the daycare; Rosie was with John today. 

_ Maybe it was John! Oh, don’t be stupid. He’s probably cock deep in Sherlock.  Get it together, Watson. John’s in love with you. He’s only away so often because of the work. Which you know is very important to us. _

Bed 5 was talking and I strove to pay attention. “Yes, sir. I realize-”

“Now, girl.” he said, interrupting me, yet again. “Be a good girl and go get me a doctor.” 

I gritted my teeth, then looked at him with as pleasant an expression as I can pull up. 

_ I'm a kind nurse. I'm a kind nurse and I won't choke you in your sleep. _

“Are you having any pain with the new cath, sir?”

“No, no. Now go-” 

I heard John’s name coming from the tv. Bed 5’s voice faded away from me. I turned to it.

 

The blonde news reporter was speaking. “The video that is coming up was captured by one of our spies just last night. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have finally confirmed what we have long insisted.” 

The screen flashed to a video of Sherlock and John holding hands as they exited a fancy restaurant. They were both well dressed and— _ giggling. Post-successful case haze. _

My heart fell out of my body. 

_ Confirmed what we long insisted. _

 

I left Bed 5’s room, and walked blindy. Tears were prickling at my eyes, welling up and over as I navigated through the labyrinth. I wiped my eyes, and found myself in the on-call room. I found my assigned bed for the week, and threw myself into it. 

_ My name is Mary Watson.  _

_ I’m a nurse. _

_ I’m an ex-assassin.  _

_ I’m a mother.  _

_ I’m a wife—   _

_ And that’s the fucking problem.  _

I fingered the scar on my chest from the bullet wound through my clothing. The one I’d gotten protecting Sherlock nearly three years ago now. 

_ I should have died then.  _

That’s the thought echoing through my skull when I realized my phone was ringing. I stared at the number, willing my brain to function normally.  _ It’s the nursing supervisor’s number.  _

“Watson. Where are you?”

“Oh, piss off.” I heard the words come out before I stop them. “My husband is cheating on me, and you expect—”

_ John. Get to John. _

“I expect you to do your job.”

_ John can make sense of this.  _

“Fuck my job,” I said, as a plan was hatching in my head. I hung up the phone. I placed it my pocket, and wiped my face. I dropped my work badge and my keys on the bed. 

I flew out of the hospital and hail myself a cab. Hastily I gave them the address, then sank back in the seat.

_ John. _

_ John can fix this. _

_ He’ll explain that he was just holding Sherlock’s pulse point. Sherlock just got injured.  _

_ They were holding hands, Watson, _ came a sly thought in my head.  _ When was the last time John held your hand? _

_ John loves me. He is forever sending me flowers and cards. _

_ Does he though?  _

 

The cab stops at 221B Baker Street. 

_ Just seventeen steps until I have the answers. _

I took the steps two at a time, and barged right into the apartment. I looked to the chairs, Sherlock’s leather bound one and John’s soft cloth one. 

_ Those chairs suit them. _ I pushed those thoughts away from me; I can’t afford kindness currently. 

Sherlock’s door was closed. I walked over to it, not worried about making noise.. 

_ If I’m right—  _

_ When I’m right, there will be plenty of noise. _

I pushed the door open to see Sherlock’s naked arse in the air. There were teeth marks on it.

_ Breathe, Mary. Anyone could have put them there.  _

_ Besides, you’ve fucked John. (Have we fucked? Or was it only sex?)  He’s not a biter. _

_ With me, _ said another voice.  _ John’s always been different with Sherlock. _

“Mary?” Sherlock’s deep, sleep-ridden voice woke me up from my fugue. 

“Hey, Sherl.” I smiled, but it felt wrong. All teeth and too much mouth. “Where’s my husband?”

Sherlock’s eyes focused on me. Deducing me. 

“Don’t do that thing you do. Don’t you fucking deduce me today!” I screamed at him, fury flying out of me. 

“John went to get milk.”  _ Was he lying? _

“I know you’re fucking my husband.” I say, letting the words hang in the air. 

 

Minutes tick by. I can feel them press into my skull as I stare him down.  

Sherlock’s still watching me, closed. Not letting me read him. 

 

“Did you ever think that you’re married to my boyfriend?” Sherlock finally asked, sitting up. “I killed for him, then you come along with your average pussy and deadly tongue. You stole him from me.” 

“If he was yours, why does he come home smelling of cigarettes, crime, and grit, a smell that’s so uniquely you, and jackhammer me?” 

That bastard Sherlock smirked. At me.  _ He thinks he’s won. _ Sleek as a cat, he stood and invaded my space. I held my place; I won’t cower. 

I stand tall. 

“John smells like cigarettes because he loves to suck my cock at a crime scene.” He skirts around me.

I can’t breathe. 

Images of my dear sweet  _ John,  _  defiling himself on his knees in some back alley like a common—

“Whore!” I call to him, escaping the apartment. 

 

I can’t  _ breathe _ . I can’t think of anything but John.

On his knees.

With Sherlock’s hard, pink, leaking cock in his eager mouth.

John.

I stop walking suddenly, leaned against the building.

_ Pull it together, Watson. _ I chastened myself, as I panted with welling emotion.  _ Get to John. Figure this out.  _

_ Bring order to the chaos. _

 

My breathing calms and my heart stops racing. I take a deep gulp of air. 

I pulled my phone out. There was a missed call from John, and several texts from other nurses. 

 

_ Hi love. Come home, why don’t you? Xo MW _

 

_ Are you home? I just dropped RW off at Daycare. SH ran out of milk. <3 your John _

 

_ My John. What a joke. _

 

_ I’m on my way home, come meet me, lover? Xo MW _

 

_ Be there in 15 minutes <3 your John _

 

I get home before him. I walked to our bedroom and pulled out my box of love notes from John. 

 

The box feels heavy with all the lies.

 

I carried them down the stairs to the kitchen. I’d had them very neatly ordered. Carefully I placed the box on the counter, and got myself two fingers of whiskey.

 

I snag the trash can and pull it over to the box. 

_ Matches. _

 

I grabbed them from the top shelf.

_ ‘The matches go on the top shelf. We have to keep Rosie safe Mary’ _

_ ‘Oh, John. she’s not even toddling! The drawer is fine.’  _

 

I exhale a breath… Then I draw one into my lungs. I focus on the way the air sacks expand, I picture the O2 transfer. I picture my future. 

I place the matches down and sip my whiskey.

 

The burn as it travelled down my throat was delicious. I sipped again, and sighed, enjoying the physical pain.

 

I open the box. 

The letter on top is from our Wedding day. John always wrote me notes. It’s on the top because it’s my favorite. I rip the envelope open and throw it in the metal can. 

 

**My dearest heart,**

**As I write this, you’re fussing about napkins and arguing with Sherlock—**

 

At his name— _ That lying sneaking filthy fucker— _ I snatched up the matches. I struck one against the box before holding the letter to the lit flame. I watched it burn with satisfaction. I tossed it in the can, then grabbed another. 

 

**My queen-**

**I’m away on a conference--** _ Was it a conference or did you go and fuck HIM all weekend— _ **and all I can do is long for your arms. I could facetime you in a heartbeat and see your beautiful smile, but it would only add to the ache in my heart for being without you. My Mary. Queen of my heart. I long to see you—**

 

I add this one to the dying fire. The thin paper lights quickly. I rip another open, but don’t bother reading it. I add it to the fire and sip my whiskey. 

_ There’s no burn now.  _

I reach for the box again. 

 

**Dearest MW-Thank you for bringing our daughter into the world. Love you always--** _ Just how long is forever, John? 3 years— _ **JW**

 

I threw it in. I grabbed a handful of letters and tossed them in without a glance.

 

“Hey, Mar.” I heard John call.

_ My John, _ my heart cried. 

 

“Kitchen.” I say in greeting. 

 

I grabbed another letter after finishing off the last of my whiskey. I opened it to feign interest while I sensed him draw near me. 

“Don’t come a step closer.” I warned, dropping the letter in the fire.

“Mar?” John smiled at me.  _ Kindness. Calming.  _

“Don’t take another step in my direction.” I said, snorting in rage. “How could you do this to us? I love you.”

John looked at me, and knew something was wrong. 

_ He fucking should know. He did this. _

I stared at him, standing there studying me. I squared my shoulders. “Why did you marry me? Did you love me?”

“I do love you.”

“Liar!” I roared, throwing the trash can at him. It hit him on the cheek; flames spread down his arm. He patted the charred wisps out with a nearby towel. 

 

_ John is calm. _

_ John is cool. _

_ John is burned.  _

I feel vindicated. 

 

“What the hell, Mary?” He asks, pulling his sweater off to look at his arm. 

“How long have you been fucking Sherlock?” I don’t let him answer. “Don’t think you can talk your way out of this. Don’t you dare try to get in my arms. You don’t love me. I’m burning the lie letters.” 

“What are you talking about? Who has upset my girl?” 

“Your  _ girl _ ? I don’t know you!” I scream. I’m losing control. I can feel it slipping away. I take a deep breath, my eyes never leaving him. 

“Mary, I’m your John. Are you sick?”

“How.  _ Long _ . Have. You. Been.  _ Fucking _ .  _ Sherlock?! _ ” 

 

John sighed. He looked at me with disappointment— _ HE’S DISAPPOINTED?- _ -clearly written on his face. 

“When we first got together, I told you about my bad break-up. You chose not to listen.” 

“All you did was talk about Sherlock!” I accused. “I just wanted to fuck you.”

“So this whole relationships been a lie for you, then?” John shook his head. “I don’t know who you are.”

 

“ _ You _ ?!” I shout, throwing the matches at him. He dodges those easily, so I fling my glass at him next. “I don’t know who you are!”

The glass misses him, but only barely. The shards lay at his feet.  _ His fault. _

John’s words cut through mine. “I am—” I see him flex his hands like he does when he’s fighting to maintain his outward appearance of calm. “I am who I’ve always said I was. I am John Hamish Watson, retired military man and doctor. I am in love with you, Mary Watson. I am a father. I am a writer. I am in love with Sherlock Holm—”

I throw my entire box of letters at him. He dodges them easily, as well. 

“GO!” I scream at him. “I can’t be trusted around you right now.  _ Just go _ !”

“ _ Where _ , Mary!? This is my home!”

“Anywhere! Get out of  _ my  _ home.” I say, flatly. Then I add, “It wasn’t your home when you were biting Sherlock’s arse!” Words like knives fly from me. I see them land on John as he walks out. “Walk out, John! Just like your father did! Because in the end, John Hamish Watson, you are no better than the trash on the street.” 

 

I hear the door slam, and reach for my glass that was no longer there. I grab the whiskey bottle, and struggle to open my phone. I dial the number before I realize what I‘m doing. 

 

“Mrs. Watson. What do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’m calling in my favor, Mr. Holmes. I need to go on a mission. Now.” I say urgently.

“Mrs. Watson, these things take time.”

“I don’t have time.” I said, slamming my first against the counter. 

“Think of your daughter.” Mycroft tried.

“Oh, hang her! Yes, I pushed a baby out of my vagina, but I am still an assassin. I am sick of being underestimated.”

“Mrs. Watson!” 

“No, get me a mission. There’s always something stupid and dangerous happening that you have your pie fingers shoved in. Get me in one.”  

I disconnect the phone.

Idly, I wonder about where John- _ My John- _ is. 

I push him- it-  away.

I shoot a message to John, even though he’s-

Sudden mission. Don’t contact me. M

_ He’s the father of your daughter- who’s let be frank- you only like because she looks like John. _

_ Stop it.  _ I command myself, heading upstairs to shower. 

My phone beeps. 

It’s Mycroft with something stupid and dangerous. 


	2. The truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out in the wash.... As it were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You published the letters she wrote to you  
> You told the whole world  
> How you brought this girl into our bed  
> In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives
> 
> Important lyrics today!

** John **

 

I lean back in the cab that I managed to find finally.

_Mary has thrown me out of the house. That is the least of what I deserve._

I stare out the window, until we reach the preschool. I sent the payment for the ride from my phone, and exited the uber.

I square my shoulders and walk into the building. I make small talk with the preschool worker.

The moment my eyes fall on my darling daughter, it becomes easier to breathe.

“Daddy!” She squeals and throws herself at me. I fall onto my knees and pull her into my arms.

“Hi Rosie-girl.” I say, with an exhale.

_It’s ok._

_I’m ok._

“Where are we going today? Mum’s home or our home?”

 _Our home. She means Sherlock’s, too._  Tears start to build up.

“Lock’s house today.”

“I like it better there. He lets me science.”

“Why don’t you grab your bag and we’ll walk there?”

She places a sloppy kiss on my cheek, before grabbing her bag. She takes my hand, and I feel better just holding her hand. She leads me through the streets and tells me about her day. I listen to her words to stay present in the moment.

_Rosie loves me even though I fucked up._

  


“Race you up the steps, Daddy! First one to Lock gets to science with him.” She pulls away from me and takes off up the steps like a shot.

I follow her slowly. When I get upstairs, she’s hugging Sherlock and prattling on about her day.

_No case, then. Well._

I shut the door, and lock it.

“Hi John.” Sherlock looks up with a smile. He eyes me lustfully.

“Hi love.” I say, with a tired smile.

“Ro, I’m going to talk to Daddy. He looks like he had a bit of a rough day.”

“Ok, Lockie. Did my new books come?”

“They’re in the kitchen, kiddo.” Sherlock kisses her head. She skips off, but runs back over. She hugs him.

“Thank you, Lockie.” Off she scurries to read a new book.

  


Sherlock looks at me, knowing I’m on the edge of crying. I close the distance and bury my face in his chest.

“She knows.” I say as the tears start. He wraps his arms around me, and holds me while I cry. “She knows. I don’t have to lie anymore. I’m yours.”

“You’ve always been mine, sweetheart.” Sherlock murmurs to me. I know it’s true.

“I’m only yours.” I say, through tears.

I wipe them on his suit.

He cringes.

It’s not the tears on the suit. It’s the healing tattoo on his chest that hurts.

“John.” he says, gently. “You know we’ll fix this together, don’t you? You, Rosie, and I are more of a family than you, Rosie, and Mary are.”

I nod.

_He’s not lying. Mary was never interested. Once she got past the breast-feeding stage (which I insisted on), she stopped bonding with Rosie._

Of course now is the perfect  time for the exceptionally observant four year old to enter the room. “Daddy, why are you crying?”

Sherlock kisses my head, and swoops in to tickle Rosie. “Because he smelled your stinky feet!”

“LOCK!” She sighs, frustrated, trying to pull away from him.

I walk over to my chair and sink into it. I wipe my eyes and take a deep breath.

Rosie breaks free from Sherlock and comes over to me. She climbs onto my lap. “Daddy, your eyes are wet. Do you want to talk about it?”

I kiss her sweet little face. “I have something very hard going on. Mummy and I are breaking up. Do you know what that means?”

She looks at Sherlock. She seems to be asking permission for something. He nods, with a smile. Then he disappears to hopefully put tea on.

“Tea?” I ask, as he disappears. A minute later I hear the stove being turned on.

_Thank fuck for Sherlock Holmes._

“Lockie told me that sometimes parents don’t stay together because it’s better for everyone for them to be apart. He said it’ll hurt to get through it, but we’ll make it through. He also told me that he loves me.”

“He’s right, though, my love.” I say, with a smile. “Mummy and I don’t love each other the way Lockie and I do. Mummy and I tried to make it work”

_She won’t know it’s a lie. Rosie will never know it’s a lie. I live and breathe for Sherlock, Mary’s barely a second thought._

“Can I live here with you and Lockie? I don’t think Mummy likes me very much.” She asks, suddenly.

_I don’t think Mummy likes me… Jesus Christ, Mary. I told you she knew. I told you!_

“Of course love.” I say, calmly.

_I’m both the stupidest and luckiest man ever._

“Does your heart hurt, Daddy?”

“It does my love.” I admit.

_God, does it hurt._

She pressed her lips to my heart with a smack. “All better, Daddy! Like you do to Lockie when he hurts himself, sciencing.”

“I’m not all better, but I’m on my way.” I say, kindly.

_I’ll never be over this. I’m sure of this._

 

Sherlock carries a tray of tea into the front room. He places it down on the little table between the two chairs. “Ro, what do you think? Should we get you a chair? I mean you’re four now. You’ll be going to crime scenes with us one day.” He hands me a cup. I smell the bourbon before I even pull it up to my mouth.

“I get a consulting chair?”

“Of course you do, love. This is our family business. Are you family?” Sherlock asks her.

“Yes, Lockie!” She grins at him, as he hands her a cup of tea. I can see the milk from here.

Sherlock takes his own cup and settles into his chair.

_He’s too far away from me._

“May I ask a question, John?” he asks, sipping his tea. I sip mine, and relish it.  I nod at him, looking into those eyes of his. Everyone loves Sherlock’s mind, but me I love his eyes and his mouth. _Oh god lord, those fingers._ “What happened with Mary?”

I smile tight-lip at him. “Another tale for another day.”

“What’s wrong with your arm? Let me get my doctor kit.” Rosie jumps off my lap and runs to her bedroom.

“She threw a metal trash can at me with love letters burning in it.” I laugh. “She’s pissed.”

“Rightly so, but this is her fault. If she would just have the decency to die when she was shot.”

“If you would have had the decency to die when you were having kidney failure.”

Sherlock groans. “You were so obtuse. I was killing myself to get your attention.”

“You always have my attention.” I wave my hand, sipping my tea. “Bourbon in my tea? You clever man.”

“Lockie! You’re the nurse, come here!” She calls flying to my side. Sherlock places his tea down, and joins Rosie by my side.

 

He kneels by my side, and slides his hand to my thigh. Even through the pants I can feel his heat.

_Sherlock’s lips on my throat, his palm on my erection, his warm breath panting in my ear._

_My lips on his arse, biting all over it._

_Was it truly only last night?_

 

“Daddy.” Rosie’s voice jolts me back to the here and now. “These look bad.” Rosie digs through her doctor bag. She pulls her magnifying glass out to examine the wounds. “Have you washed them?”

“No, love.”

“Daddy! That’s the first rule! Clean your wound. Nurse.” She turns to Sherlock. “Fetch me two bowls of warm water. Some with soap, some without.” She turns back to her bag to look again. Sherlock runs his hand up my thigh, and pulls away before he touches my junk. “Bring some towels, and wash your hands.”

She turns back to my arm. “Thank you for taking care of me, buggy girl.”

She tsks. “Daddy, you are a doctor. You know ‘fections happen quickly.” She sighs. “I’m glad you came to me.”

 

_I feel Sherlock’s hand ghost my thighs again._

_I’m going to be ok._

_Sherlock will help me through this._

_Rosie will help me._

_I should feel bad for Mary. She has no one._

_“Orphan’s lot”_

 

“Infections, love.” Sherlock says, returning.

She sighs, and takes a towel from him. “Did you wash your hands? I’m trying to prevent _in_ fections.” She says, over pronouncing the I N in infection.

He holds his hands out for Dr. Rosamund M. Watson to inspect them. “Flip them over, please.” She looks at them again, then nodded. “Nurse, hold the soapy water up for me.” Sherlock sat on his shins with his feet tucked under his arse and held the soapy water up for her. Sherlock’s eyes met mine. He’s giving me an absolutely sinful look.

“Daddy, I’m going to gently clean your wounds carefully. It may hurt. Let me know if it does, I’ll look at it, ok?”

“Yes, buggy girl.”

Rosie very seriously turned to the wounds. She gently cleaned them with her tongue stuck between her lips.

“She looks like you.” Sherlock smiles at me.

“Hush, please nurse.” She corrects him, turning back to the bowl.

_God, Sherlock. I would fuck you several ways from Sunday right now. Part anger fuck, part happy fuck._

“John, your mind is screaming at me.” Sherlock said, causally. I sip my tea. I give Sherlock a smile.

“Lockie, Daddy’s head is loud because his heart hurts.” She places the towel in the soapy bowl of water. “May I have the next bowl and towel?”

Sherlock held them up to her, with a grin. He rakes his eyes over my body. “Ro, Mrs. Hudson came by earlier looking for you.”

_He wants to fuck me!_

“Nice try, Lockie. You’re not done being a nurse.” She smiles at him, as she works on my arm. “Daddy, please be careful with your arm. There’s nothing I can do for it.”

“I know, buggy girl.”

Rosie grabs her magnifying glass again. She looks at a certain wound. “Nurse. You’ll have to help Daddy take care of them. He needs to clean them daily, and he could put vaseline on them at bedtime. Can you help him?”

Sherlock nods seriously. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Can I go up to my bedroom, now?” Just that quickly she stops being a doctor, and goes back to being my daughter.

“Take your kit with you.” She packed everything away, then carefully carried the two bowls to the kitchen. “A good surgeon cleans up his workspace.” she says, as if reminding herself.

 _Something she’s heard me tell Sherlock. She must have been 2 and a half at the time. Jesus, I love this kid._  

Sherlock smiles at me, then grabs the remaining debris to help the kid out. She comes in, kisses my forehead, then disappears upstairs. After a few minutes, we hear violin music Sherlock recorded for her.

  
  


Sherlock approaches me, and pulls me into the bedroom. I follow willingly. Once there, he pulls me into his arms, and holds me tight.

“I’m so sorry, John. I couldn’t warn you. She was here. I wasn’t my best self. She knew. She knew! She saw the bite marks on my arse, and she knew!” he says, in a panic.

My chest tightens at his raw emotions. “You’ve done nothing wrong my dear heart. Please, calm down.”

“It’s all wrong, John. I don’t want to hurt Mary.” he says, as he pulls away. I see him wipe falling tears angrily off his cheek. “She really should have died!”  He starts pacing around the room. It’s much too small of a space to hold all this energy for long.

“I know, love.” I say, realizing that I have a window here. “Why don’t you take your clothes off and get in bed? I’ll hold you, my King and you can cry it out.”

“I don’t want to cry about this!” Sherlock says, harshly. “It’s not fair, John. I loved you longer. I claimed you!”

“Shh, I know, love.” I pull my shirt off, and hold my arms out to him. “Come let me hold you. We’ll touch each other’s skin. You love skin to skin contact.”

“John Hamish.” Sherlock says, as he paces. He pulls his shirt off, and slams himself into me.

He would deny he was angry with me. He ‘was mad in general’ he would tell me, as if explaining it to a toddler.  

In a way, I know he’s mad at me because I could have ended this farce of a marriage (a phrase Sherlock had hurled at me back when this started) before it even began. I could have come back to Sherlock like he came back to me, and spend the rest of my life pleasing him.

Again, the blame points to me.

I hold his face between my two hands to cover it in kisses. He wraps his arms around my waist. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’m so sorry I hurt you like this.” I whisper between kisses. “Please forgive. Please. I can’t survive this without you. I’m stronger next to you.”

“I have nothing to forgive you for.” Sherlock says, biting my neck. Sherlock loves to bite me in anger. I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Sherlock, I could have stopped all this pain you’re feeling-”

“What about what you’re feeling? John, think of you. Your poor heart. I know you…” He pauses his speech, shifting to bring us closer together. “You will never admit how you feel right now, but John I see it written on your face. You’re devastated. You.” He stops a moment, struggling. “It wasn’t a farce marriage. It was what you needed.” Sherlock says, echoing my own thoughts. He strokes my cheek. “John, I am so selfish. I need you more than I can say and I know that you chose her. I know that you—married her. I can’t breathe without you. Please don’t leave me.”

I touch his cheek at his words. “Look at me, Lock.”

I give him time. He won’t look at me until the tears have stopped.

His gaze latches onto mine, and I relish the feeling.

“My sweet foolish lover, what makes you think I could walk away from you? Think on all the reasons you’ve already given me to walk away. Have I ever took one?”

“John.” He whines, in that soft, sweet way that turns my name into “ _Jawn_.” I melt into his touch. “Please, promise me you won’t leave me.”

“I promise you I won’t leave you.” I say, wholeheartedly.

 

A knock on the bedroom door interrupts anything else. Sherlock goes to the door. “Hi Lockie, may I come in?”

I pull my shirt on quickly, and lay down on the bed. Rosie pushes the door open more to see me. “Hi princess. Come on in.”

She runs over to me and climbs up on the bed. “Daddy, what does this word mean?” She points to “rigor mortis.”

“Sherl, are these books appropriate?” I ask, looking at him. He is wiping his wet hands on his pants.

_Still shirtless and slightly hard. Jesus Sherlock._

“Yes, John.” Sherlock says, with a grin.

“Rigor mortis is when the body starts to harden after death.” I say, kissing her head.

“That’s something a detective and a doctor should both know.” She decides, then grabs her notebook around her neck. She writes it down. It takes her some time, but she is only four and writing ‘RIGOR MORTIS’.

“Are you a detective right now?” Sherlock asks. “Because I am too.”

“Yes, Lock. That’s why I wrote Riii-g-or Morrrrttis.” She sounds it out.

“You’re the smartest four year old anyone has ever met.” I say, hugging her around her waist.

“Daddy, when can we go see Uncle Mycroft again? He has the best books.”

“I’ll talk to him, Wee Watson.” Sherlock adores her. “He did say he was going to schedule a Latin lesson soon if you’re free.”

“And a violin lesson?” she asks, turning the page.

“Why do you want him to teach you violin? His Chopin is sloppy and his Wagner-”

“He makes it fun, Lockie.” she says, simply. I kiss her cheek with a giggle. “Lockie, I have some private questions for Daddy. Will you give us a mo’? Ta dear.” She sounds like Mrs. Hudson. I giggle again. Sherlock can’t even argue. He shuts the door, and Rosie closes her book.

 

“Daddy, remember how you told me that sometimes we feel scary things, but we should take a deep breath and work through them?”

I nod.

“I’m really scared about you and Mummy breaking up.” she says, with tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to live with Mummy. She doesn’t love me like my daddies do.”  

I gasp, then pull her into my arms. “Shh, lovie, it’s ok. Daddy’s here.” I say, rubbing her back. “I want you to live with me too.”

Rosie’s tears fall in earnest, she holds tight to me. “I love Mummy, but she thinks I’m weird, Daddy.”

“Why do you say that, my dearest?”

“Because.” she hiccups, then hides her face still crying. “I asked her a question and she told me it was weird.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re weird, baby.”

“Mummy thinks I am!” She was sobbing. I just cradle her in my arms.

“I’m scared, too.” I finally say, not knowing what else to say. “I’m scared Lockie’s going to leave us. I’m scared that everyone is going to hate me.”

“Because you love Lockie?” She asks, wiping her face.

I nod. “The bad part is that I love Lockie while still married to Mummy.”

Rosie makes a sour face. “Mummy’s not always a good lady.” she says, suddenly. “I’ve seen her kiss Uncle David on the lips! You only kiss Lockie on the cheek or forehead. ”

_Who the fuck is Uncle David?_

_Oh jesus fuck. Her ex?_

_I’m an idiot._

“I’m sorry you had to see that, baby girl. Did it confuse you?”

“Yes, Daddy, but Mummy said that sometimes grown-ups kiss like that.” She smiles with tears still fresh on her cheeks.

“Thank you for talking to me, Rosie. You’re brave to do so. Do you have other questions?”

“No, Daddy. Just about crime scene stuff, that’s not your area.”

“Too right, darling.” I kiss her check again, and she climbs off the bed. “I’m going to see Lockie now.”

She disappears out of the room.

 

_I have to make a comment. I have to say something._

_They’re going to attack me!_

_They’re going to attack Sherlock._

_He’s more important than I am._

I groan to myself, and pull the laptop over. I pull up my blog, and head to the “post new blog” button.

I click it.

Words fly from my fingers.

 

_Dear Readers,_

 

_Hi. It’s your friendly neighborhood blogger, John Watson. I’m posting a special post today and the only comment on the topic I’m going to make. The comments are disabled for this post._

_The rumors are true. I’m in love with Sherlock Holmes.  While this complicates things with MM, and the timing is less than ideal, I must admit the truth of the matter. MM and I are committed to making sure our daughter grows to be a better human than I am._

_I, John H. Watson, am a giant cock. I have cheated on MM. I found comfort outside of my marriage with someone that I’ve loved for the last ten years._

_While I regret hurting MM like this, I do not regret loving Sherlock Holmes. I regret my own cowardice. I accept any and all public punishment you, my dear readers, may believe to be fit._

  


_To my King, my consulting detective, I love you. Sherlock Holmes, it seems the game is on._

 

_As always, your humble servant,_

_John H. Watson._

 

I post it to the blog, and turn my computer off. I walk out into the kitchen where Sherlock and Rosie are cooking dinner.

“Lock, my love, where’s your phone?” I ask, coming up behind him. I wrap my arms around his flat stomach and place a kiss on his neck, sensing heat from the bruise just under his collar.

“Uhh.” He stutters, distracted. He pulls the phone out of his pocket, and hands it to me.

“I’m turning it off.” I announce. “I’ve done something a bit not good. I posted on the blog about us.”

“Ooo, do tell my love.”

I glance at Rosie. “I basically put that my relationship with Mary is over. I screwed it up. I accept the backlash. I’m in love with you, Sherlock.” I shrug, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Does this mean I have two daddies now?” Rosie asks, smiling from ear to ear.

“You’ve always had two daddies.” Sherlock kisses her head. “Now, everyone else _knows_ you have two daddies.”

“Yaaaay!” Rosie cheers. “Daddy, tonight we’re making diyas.”

I look to Sherlock to translate. He giggles. “Quesadillas, Ro.”

“What Daddy said.”

Luckily I’m still watching my lover’s face when she calls him, “Daddy.” He looks flabbergasted. Rosie glances up at him. I’m grinning.

“Or Lock.” Rosie shrugs. “I like either.”

“You meant me, Ro? Just then when you said ‘daddy’.”

“Yes, Lock.”

“Is that _ok_ , John?”

“Of course it is my love.” I smile at him.

Sherlock looks at us, then turns his back from us. “Thank you both.”

 

I grin at Rosie, then scoop her up and right into a joint hug on Sherlock. “You’re family, Sherlock.” I say.

“We love you!” Rosie kisses his cheek. “Now, Daddy, put me down so I can cook with Lockie.” She wiggles down, and I walk over to the counter.

 

The bourbon is still out. I pour myself three fingers, and retreat to my chair. I snag the newspaper on my way.  

I delve into the last newspaper that I’d read all the way through for some time.

I must have gotten lost in it, because a rap on the apartment door startles me.  I hear a key slide into the lock.

 

“Mycroft.” Sherlock calls in, with a shrug.

I lean back into my chair with a sigh.

Mycroft emerges from the door, and shuts it behind him again.

“What have you done?” he asks me, stopping in front of my chair.

“Uncle Myc!” Rosie shouts, running over to hug his knees.

Mycroft is stiff. Whether it’s in anger or surprise was yet to be seen. He instantly reigns himself in and lowers himself down to the floor. He throws his arms around Rosie’s shoulders. “Hello my darling niece.”

“Hi Uncle Myc!”  she pulls back from him. “Guess what? Lockie and I are making dinner! We’re making… What thingys.”

“What are you making?”

“Quesadillas.” I volunteer.  

His cold steel eyes turn to me. “Thank you, Doctor.” he says, icily.

Rosie kisses Mycroft on the cheek, and runs back into the kitchen.

 

Mycroft slowly stands up, and brushes himself off dramatically.

“Doctor, may I speak with you privately?”

“Have a seat. Keep your voice low. That’s as private as it gets around here.” I wave to Sherlock’s chair. He crouches down by my right arm rest.

“You have fucked up.” Mycroft hisses at me.

I laugh in his face. A gleeful short bark.

“You’ve known about this for three years and now you care?” I ask, staring him down. I sniff, and flex my fingers. I square off my shoulders again.

“It’s never affected my brother before.”

I laugh again, but it sounds wrong. Not happy at all. It must be all the anger flowing out of me.

“You have no idea who your brother is.” I say, quietly. “I fucked him in Buckingham Palace. Did you know that?”

Mycroft picks off imaginary lint from his pants, disinterestedly.  

“I sucked his cock and spit the come out on your seat in your office.”

Mycroft face actually changes color.

“He bent me over your sainted Grandmother’s chair and ate my arse until I came.” I say, actually truly grinning now. The anger is gone. “And when we were done with the chair, we fucked on your bed.”  I smile smugly. “So tell me again, how this is just affecting your brother now?”

Mycroft pinches the bridge of his nose with his third digit and his thumb. “John, please try to be a bit reserved.”

“This is behavior that happened over the last three years when I was married. Imagine what kind of monster I’ll be unleashing when my divorce is finalized?”

Mycroft exhaled loudly.

“So, be a good big brother and make the divorce happen. I mean, after all, you are so invested in your dear brother’s happiness.” I stare at him until he stands up.  “Make sure when you do obtain me that divorce, you also get me full custody of my daughter.”

“Is that the way of it?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

He holds his hand out to him to shake it.

I channel my inner Sherlock, and wave his hand away imperiously. “Oh, Myc, make sure you make your excuses for not staying for dinner with your niece.”


	3. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosie has lunch with her Mum and well. It's not what you think.
> 
> Thanks Holdt! <3

“Daddy!” Rosie whines as we sit on a bench. We were waiting for Mary. She was taking Rosie for a few hours. It was not something I want, but the lawyer thinks it’s a good idea. “I don’t want to see Mummy.” 

_ Aw, fuck. _

I glance at Sherlock and he suppresses a grin. 

“I know love. Sometimes we do things for others. Mummy misses you and wants to see you.”

“Lockie!” She appeals to her favorite parent. “She missed my birthday!”

“That wasn’t Mary’s fault, darling. She was on a mission for Uncle Myc—”

“I don’t care, Lockie! You’ve explained this to me several times and it’s  _ not fair _ . You  _ never  _ missed my birthdays. Daddy would  _ die  _ first.”

“Rosamund.” I warn, with a dangerous tone in my voice. “You’re verging on being a brat.”

She sighs dramatically sounding very much like my boyfriend in miniature. She snuggles under Sherlock’s arm and he pulls her close. “I’m not happy with her, Daddy.” 

“Honey.” I say trying to find the words. “Mummy’s having a rough time currently too. She doesn’t have a Lockie to help her feel better.”

Rosie hid her face and was saying—something—but I couldn’t make it out. I did hear sniffles though.

“Rosie.” Sherlock says. “Would you like to take a walk with me? I’m feeling really nervous about meeting Mary and having a walk will help me calm down.” 

She stands up, tears rolling down her cheeks. She throws herself into my arms. I hug her tightly and kiss her head. 

“I love you, my brave girl.” 

Sherlock leans over us and kisses my head. He placed his hand on my cheek and I melt into it. I meet his eyes. I can feel his love pouring into me.

“Like Merida, Daddy.” 

“Yes, baby. Like your princess.”

She wipes her face and hugs me again. “Ok, Lockie.” She takes his hand and they walk off.

I watch my heart,  parcelled out into two bodies—walk away. 

 

Sherlock’s talking to her, distracting her. She’s looking up at him, totally absorbed in his words. I watch them disappear into a little stuffed animal store. I chuckle, knowing that she’s coming back out with something. 

 

_ What do I say to Mary? _

_ Can I tell her that I’m sorry? Am I actually sorry? _

_ Yes; for hurting her, but not for anything else. _

_ Do I even need to speak to her about personal things?  _

_ I mean, what if she asks about my relationship with Sherl- _

Suddenly it’s too much to sit there. It’s too loud in my head. 

 

I follow them and stand outside the store. I hear Sherlock’s voice float to me, muffled, as I watch them through the glass.

“This is a tough decision love. In Brave, the bears are black. That pushes me towards the dark brown bear, but you already have one. So that sways me to the tawny one. It’s light in color though, so you might get it dirty-”

“I want the green kitty!” Rosie announces. 

“Green kitty it is.” he says. I watch her pluck one out and join the line.

“Hi.” I hear Mary say softly. Of course she snuck up on me.

I nod to signal that I heard her, but keep my eyes on my daughter. “You missed her birthday.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” she asks, bitingly. 

Rosie’s doing that stupid dance they make you do when you build a stuffed animal.

_ Let it go, John. Engaging leads to trouble. _

“She’s taller, isn’t she?” Mary tries to draw me into a conversation. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her stiffen her back. She is trying to exude power. She’s failing.

“That’s what happens when you don’t see your daughter for 8 weeks.” 

“It was 10 weeks total.” She confesses. “Way too long, I know.”

“Far too long.” I agree. “Has my lawyer contacted you?”

“John.” she says, trying to sound stern.

I watch my boyfriend settle onto the floor. He pulls Rosie onto his lap. Snippets float back to me. (Well, Mary can hear it too, but I don’t care about that.)

“I think it’s a good choice.” Rosie was saying. “She needs a bow.”

“Of course. Merida’s the fiercest kitten warrior ever.”

“John.” Mary says, trying to drag my attention away from my daughter. I push my revulsion down. “I’m here to see my daughter.”

 

_ I turn to her, anger coursing through me. I stare at her, blinking. She looks the same as always; short cropped blond hair, tanner, slightly battle worn. Her eyes surveilling me as if to track my movements. She’s on the offense.  _

_ “So now she’s your daughter,” I say, pitching my voice low. “You vile excuse for a mother. You hate her and she knows it. You-” _

_ “I don’t hate her!” She hisses, louder than I’d like. _

_ I glance to where my daughter is with her Lockie. Sherlock’s body has subtly shifted. He’s gone from happy and relaxed to ‘Danger, Will Rogers!’  _

_ Rosie’s comfortable and hasn’t been affected by my outburst. Best news I could hope for. _

_ I walk away from the store entrance. Mary follows me.  _

_ “Mary. It’s beyond important that you listen to me in this moment. Rosie asked me why you hated her. I had nothing. I tried to explain you didn’t hate her, but she told me you thought she was odd.”  _

_ I am John’s raging bile duct. How dare that cow of a woman call my daughter odd. _

_ “Then she sobbed because her Mum hates her. What have you done to her?” _

_ Mary looks blown away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” _

_ “Think.” I instruct angrily. “And do not lie to me.”  _

_ “I will fix my relationship with my daughter. Kindly keep your nose out of it.” _

_ I flex my fingers unhappily. “Your poor relationship with my daughter affects me!” I want to scream, but she wasn’t done talking. _

_ “Since you are nothing but a nosy slut, why did you publish that blog post where you declare your love for him? Why did you bring the world into our bed? You-” She stops, then steps closer to me.  _

_ I stare her down. I won’t be bullied. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I say haughtily. “You’ve hardly been a wife to me.”  _

 

_ Mary _

 

_ I slowly approach the meeting spot, nearly on time. Sherlock was leaning over to touch his lips to my John’s head.  _

_ My John lets the harlot place his disgusting lips on my husband. _

_ Then he leans into the whore’s hand. He looks happy at that sex fiend’s touch. His gorgeous eyes are hidden from me, but Jesus fuck, he’s practically purring in that fucker’s hand. _

_ I stick my fist into my mouth to stop myself from calling out.  _

_ Get your paws off my husband.  _

_ What the actual fuck? _

_ Why is Sherlock touching him? _

_ I know John said he’s cheated—not chea _ **_ting_ ** _ —but he has to realize we’re still married. We can work this out. _

 

_ Someone bumping into me brings me out of my head. I scan the area for John. He’s moved to stand outside a toy store, staring into the windowpane. I walk over to him, but I don’t want to scare him.  _

_ “Hi!” I say sweetly, watching his body language change.  _

_ “You missed her birthday.” He says, anger pouring out of him. _

_ Her birthday? Oh yes, I did.  _

_ “You think I don’t know that?” I ask angrily. “I was the one that pushed her out!” _

_ First words he says to me and it’s about the kid. _

_ I sigh, inaudibly. “She’s taller, isn’t she?” I try to engage him happily, but I realize he doesn’t care about my words. It takes more than that to browbeat me. This what he does--makes me feel guilty for the things I can’t change. Fuck John. _

_ “That’s what happens when you don’t see your daughter in 8 weeks.”  _

_ He’s angry again. No... Still.  _

_ I make some trivial comment and try to keep it light, but hearing the word lawyer breaks through my composure..  _

_ “John.” I try to say it kindly, but my body doesn’t comply. _

_ “John,” I try again. Not kind at all, but the best I can do. _

_ I silently beg him to look at me. _

_ “I’m here to see—” _

_ YOU! _

_ “My daughter.” I finish. _

 

_ Finally he turns to me. I soak in his face. It’s gorgeous as hell. _

_ God,  I’ve missed him. _

_ Wait, that was an insult! _

_ “You hate her and she knows it.” _

_ “I don’t hate her!” I deny loudly. _

_ He’s walking away from me, so I follow him.  _

_ He’s talking again. All I can do is remember his vows.  _

_ “I’ve never done this before - and I never want to again. Mary Morstan I want to be the one you turn to in the storm of life. I want to make you tea when you’re ill. I want to wake up to your crazy morning hair. I want all-” _

_ “What have you done to her?”  _

_ I stare at him, uncomprehendingly. “What are you talking about?” _

_ “Think. Do not lie to me.” _

_ Oh, Rosie.  _

_ “I will fix my relationship with my daughter. Kindly keep your nose out. Since you are nothing but a nosy cheater, why did you publish that blog where you told the world you brought him into our bed?” _

_ I step closer to him, and stand up straight.  _ _ he doesn't intimidate me; on the contrary--it should be John who's afraid of what I can do. _

_ He stares at me. _

_ “I don’t have have to explain myself to you. You’ve hardly been a wife to me. First, you were pregnant and tired all the time. Then it was caring for Rosie.” He’s on a roll, finally letting it out. “Then you were tired from work. I tried to do it right. I tried to be a good husband to you.” _

_ I scoff here. “Doing it right would mean  _ **_not_ ** _ fucking Sherlock bloody Holmes! It means not flirting with anything that smiles at you. For fuck’s sake. ‘I’m a doctor! Hello nurse!’ You’re a slut, John Watson, when you were supposed to be mine. _

_ John sighs, then says evenly. “You didn’t mind me flirting when it was you on the receiving end.” _

_ I ignore him, and continue on. “I ruined my perfect body for you! I squeezed a human out of my perfect pussy and now it’s wrecked!  Because you didn’t pull out! My body--” _

_ John is laughing. He’s laughing heartily. Holding his sides in mirth laughing. I stare at him in disbelief. _

_ What the fuck is so funny?  _

 

_ “Hullo, John.” Sherlock says, as he approaches carrying Rosie.  “Mary.” he nods curtly. _

_ “Hi Daddy.” Rosie says, reaching for him. John takes his—our—daughter, and she buries her face into his neck.  _

_ God, his sexy neck. The noises he’d make when I bit him there. _

_ “Rosie girl, Mum’s here.” John says, shifting her weight to his other shoulder. His old injury must still bother him.  _

_ “Hullo, Mum!” She says, muffled. I walk behind John to see her face. _

_ Ok, yes, I totally glance at John’s arse. He has a lovely arse.  _

_ “Hello, Rosie. I’ve missed you.” _

_ “You missed my birthday!” She points out. _

_ “May I hold you?” I ask, taking my daughter’s presence in. Despite not wanting to be a mother, she’s here and John’s right. This isn’t her fault.  _

_ “Please, don’t touch me.” She says, withdrawing into John’s arms more.  _

_ “Rosamund!” John admonishes her. Sherlock steps up behind her, with John in between us; he whispers to her. _

_ “No one’s going to touch you without your permission, but Mary may have to hold your hand—” _

_ “Maybe then, Daddy!” She says, hiding her face in John’s neck again. _

_ Sherlock kisses Rosie’s head, and said, “Be brave, my girl. I’m so proud of you.” _

 

_ I’m watching this happen numbly. _

_ Rosie calls Sherlock “Daddy.” _

 

_ “Ok Ro. Lock and I have a meeting to get to. We love you. Have fun with Mummy. Mind your manners.” John kisses her on the head. “We’ll see you at Angelo’s at 17:00. Ok, love?” _

_ Rosie looked at Sherlock’s watch. “Don’t be late, please?” she asks. Sherlock slips his watch off, and she tucks it in her pocket.  _

_ “17:00 we’ll be there, love.”  _

_ She lets him put her down, and she disentangles herself from the men.  _

_ “Hi Mummy. I’m hungry.” She hugs her stuffed cat.  _

_ I can sense the men’s eyes on me. I look around. There’s a chain restaurant just across the way. “Why don’t we go eat in there?” I ask, pointing to it. She looks at it, then nods.  _

_ “Mum, I don’t hold hands.” She declares, even though I just saw her doing it with Sherlock.  _

_ With strangers, I think to myself. And that’s what I am! A stranger! I grew her in my body, but as soon as she was out, I abandoned her. _

_ “I will walk in front of you. That’s how Uncle Myc and I do it.” _

_ So anyone that isn’t Sherlock. _

_ She takes off in front of me, and I follow her.  _

_ She walks up to the podium, and turns to me with big eyes. “Mum, I don’t talk to strangers.” _

_ “That’s ok, my love.” I turn towards the hostess, with a smile. “Hi! Table for two, please!”  The hostess led the way to the table. I try to help Rosie with her seat, but she refuses with a scowl. _

_ “I’m not a baby, Mum!”  _

_ “No, you’re practically grown now.” I say nicely. “What kinds of foods do you like?” _

_ “Chicken, rice, fries, mac and cheese. I like a lot of things, especially when I cook it!” _

_ “What do you think about ordering dessert for lunch?” I ask, hoping she’s not opposed. I really want cake. I haven’t had anything good lately. I spent the last month posing as a vegan yoga enthusiast.  _

_ “We can do that?” Her eyes grow large in awe.  _

_ “Yes, we can!”  _

_ She snuggles her stuffed cat, then asks quietly. “Daddy says that dessert is a treat, not a meal.” _

_ “And Daddy’s right, but we’re celebrating your birthday today! Would you like to do that?” _

_ Rosie thinks it over, then nods. “Will you just ask Daddy if it’s ok?”  _

_ “Sure, let me text him.”  _

_ I pull out my phone, and shoot off a quick message. I glance up at Rosie who was snuggling her stuffed cat and whispering to it. _

 

_ RW and I are having cake for lunch.  _

 

_ I struggle with signing it MM, so I sign MW. _

_ Whatever. Comes back to me, before a minute is even out. _

 

_ What does that mean? _

 

_ I put a big smile on my face,  “He says it’s ok!” _

_ “Yay! I want chocolate cake and banilla ice cream.” She sighs, then tries again. “Va-nilla.”  _

_ “Hey, I understood you.” _

_ Rosie shakes her head. “No, Mum. It’s important to pronounce things correctly. Just because I’m young is no excuse to sound stupid.”  _

_ Mentally, I’m growling. That statement is pure Sherlock coming out of her mouth. How much has he poisoned her young mind? God only knows. _

_ “That was a little harsh.” _

_ “The truth is neither hard or soft.” She shrugs, parroting John this time.  _

_ “What do you like to do for fun? We’ve got hours to spend!” _

_ “The British Museum! They have a new exhibit—” she cuts herself off at my face. _

_ “You go to museums for fun?” _

_ She nods, grinning. “I read all the time. I play violin and try to speak Latin. Uncle Myc is the funniest teacher.” _

_ “What do you do for fun?” _

_ Rosie blinks in a very John Watson way. “Read, play violin. Sometimes Lockie and I solve puzzles. I had this really hard one the other day! Lockie said he didn’t solve it until he was seven. I’m five!”  _

_ “That’s exciting! Do you hang out often with Sherlock?” _

_ Rosie nods. “We live with him! I have my own bedroom. It’s yellow. I wanted to paint it purple, but we couldn’t find the right shade. One day Daddy brought home the yellow and I love it!” _

_ The waiter appears and takes our orders. Rosie giggles through me placing her order.  _

_ “So do you like living with Daddy?” _

_ “Oh, yes! Daddy, Lockie, and I walk all over the city. Lockie knows everyone!” _

_ “Do you miss our house?” _

_ “No, Mummy. It was too big and empty! There wasn’t any kids to play with.” _

_ “Oh, I didn’t think of that.”  _

_ “Mummy.” Rosie says, then pauses. “I’m sorry I was grumpy when you first met us today. I was scared to come with you today.” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “Sometimes Mummy you say mean things and I try to ignore them, but they just stick.” _

_ Well, fuck my life.  _

_ “I’m so sorry, I hurt you at any point in your five years on this earth. I love you, it was not my intention.”  _

_ “It’s ok, Mummy. Just do better. That’s what Lockie says to do.” _

_ I finger my water glass, pretending not to be interested in what I’m asking. “Did you call Lockie “daddy” today?” _

_ “I did. He loves me like Daddy does. He just wants me happy. Sometimes I call him “daddy.” Daddy’s said it was ok.”  _

_ “What if Mummy got an apartment, closer to the museum, would you want to come live with me?” I ask, idly. Again pretending like I don’t care.  _

_ “Oh, no thank you Mummy. I’ll come visit you, but I don’t want to move out of 221B Baker Street. We did an exper—”  _

 

_ Lucky for me, the dessert comes. She stops talking and digs into her lunch.  _

_ I wasn’t as hungry as I was before I’d found out that she loved John and Sherlock a lot. Luckily I manage to eat something (especially because it’s been so long since I’ve had something so sinful.)  _

_ “Mummy. Where to now?” Rosie finally says after our desserts are cleared away. _

_ “Did you enjoy lunch?” I ignore her question. _

_ She looks at me sourly. “No. You have to answer me before I answer you. Those are the rules.”  _

_ “What about a movie? My mum used to take me-” _

_ “No, please, Mummy. It’s too loud. I have sensitive ears, daddy says.” _

_ “Mmm.” I say. “I guess we could go to the museum but it’ll be so crowded.” _

_ “Oh, no! It’s lovely! There’s so much to see and do. Also I’m a member!” she says proudly. “Lockie got me a membership like he has.” _

_ “Do you and Sherlock go often?” _

_ “Sometimes. Daddy and Mrs. Hudson like the museum too.” _

_ “Do you prefer to travel by bus or the tube?” _

_ “Taxi! Lockie throws his arm out and bam! We get one!” She smiles, happily. _

_ “Daddy used to ride the bus.” _

_ Rosie shrugs. “When we go out, we take a cab.”  _

_ My phone rang, preventing me from having to respond. “ Rosie, it’s Mycroft.” I slide the phone over to her.  _

_ She grabs it and answers it gleefully.  _

_ I sigh, watching my daughter interact someone happily. I pay the waiter and watch her talk to Mycroft. _

_ She keeps wrinkling up her eyebrows with a funny little giggle.  _

_ “Here, Mummy. Uncle Myc wants you.” Rosie hands me the phone, and snuggles her cat contently. _

_ “Holmes.” _

_ “Watson, I’ve sent you details of a new mission. They need you to leave in three hours.” _

_ “Yeah, sure. Send a car to the house. I’ll be ready.” _

_ I disconnect the phone and smile at Rosie. “You ready, baby?” _

_ Rosie smiles at me as she clambors out of her seat. She walks herself around the booth, and takes my hand. We walk out to the curb, and I hail a cab. Once inside the cab, I’m lost in my thoughts. _

_ “Oh, Sorry!” I say suddenly. “Change of plans, 221B Baker Street.” _

_ I pull my phone to text John. _

_ On my way. Emergency came up MW _

 

_ Are you fucking kidding me?  _

 

_ John, I need to go. I’m bringing Rosie to Baker Street MW _

 

_ For fuck’s sake.  _

 

_ I slide the phone shut and look at Rosie. _

_ “Why are we going home?” _

_ “Oh, darling girl. I’m so sorry. I just got called into work.” _

_ “Nursing?” She asks, curiously. _

_ “No, love.” I say, not adding For Mycroft. I’m sure he has something deliciously fun to do.  _

_ Rosie sighs, and pulls her hand away from me. “Ok, Mum. Be safe.” _

_ Et tu, Brute? _

_ “Ro, I-” _

_ “It’s Rosie.” She corrects me.  _

_ “When I get back, we’ll go to the museum. We’ll spend all weekend there.” She nods, but pulls her stuffed cat closer. “I’m sorry, kid.” _

_ “It’s ok, Mummy. I had fun while it lasted.” _

_ Ouch. Ok so I deserved that. _

_ I gently touch her arm. “I’m really glad you had lunch with me.” _

_ “Thank you for having me.” she says, as she starts crying. _

_ Oh, christ. What have I done now? _

_ “Hey come here, I’ll hold you.” _

_ “No thank you.” she says. “Can I call Sherlock, please?”  _

_ I hand her the phone, and chew my lip. She calls Sherlock’s number.  _

_ “Hi, Lockie.” she says in a small sniffling voice. She waits for his response. “Will you take me to the museum this afternoon?” She is absent-mindedly playing with her cat’s costume pieces.. “Thank you Lockie. I love you. Goodbye.” She hands me the phone. She keeps her body turned away from me. _

_ I watch her as we ride to Baker Street. She must have calmed herself down because there’s no more tears. _

_ Just another mom failure. _

 

_ We pull up to the apartment and I push through the e-payment. Rosie jumps out of the cab and throws herself into John’s waiting arms.  _

_ I watch him crouch down to talk to her. He kisses her cheek. She turns towards me, but then turns away from me. All I can see is a flash of green disappear.  _

_ “She says she’s not feeling her best and to give you her regards. You must have fucked up badly if she won’t even hug you.” _

_ “John, I really am very sorry.” I sound lame, even to my own ears. _

_ “Save it. Get yourself a lawyer. I’m done with you.”  _

_ I exhale loudly. “John we need to talk.” _

_ “Why? So you can tell me what a lousy spouse I am?” he asks, tauntingly. Dismissive. _

_ “No. So we can fix what’s broken in our relationship!” _

_ John charges me, angrily. “There is no ‘us’. I don’t want you. Marrying you was a waste of my time. It distracted me from Sherlock.  Marrying you was to prove how straight I was. I mean, I never was straight. I was always bisexual, but fucking you corrupted me so badly, I’ve lost all zest for women.” _

_ “John, you don’t mean that.” I cry in surprise.  _

_ “I have never meant anything more. Get out of here.” _

_ I try to step away from John, but he invades my space and grabs my wrists.  _

_ “You disgust me.” I say, hearing myself cry rather than feel it. “You’ll fuck anything that’ll open up for you. You’re a whore, John Watson.” _

_ “Thank you.” He smiles at me.  _

_ “You’re a psychopath. I don’t know why I love you!” I shout in his face, spit flying. My tears are still running my down my cheeks. I can’t even wipe them away because he’s still holding my wrists.  _

_ John pulls me closer in a swift aggressive maneuver that reminds me of fucking. It takes my breath away.  _

_ “You think I’m a psychopath? Hello pot. I’m kettle.” _

_ I try to pull away from him, but he pulls me close again. A flush creeps up my neck, as I realize I’m turned on.  _

_ “You’re a danger slut.” I try to throw at him. The bite is gone from my voice. “You move in with a psychopath and then you marry one! I think you’re fucked up, John.” _

_ “He’s a high functioning sociopath and I’d rather be his slut, than your husband.” _

_ “Ooo, good come back.” I say, rolling my eyes. He pushes me away from him. I see the spark of hate flash in his eyes. “What happened to the man I fell in love with? Safe, strong, sexy John.” _

_ He barks in laughter. “Did you ever know me? I mean, truthfully. You saw what you wanted to see. Someone who was broken, stupid, easy to hide behind. You only married me to put AGRA behind you. Plus you’re a sick fuck. You prey on the weak—” _

_ “That’s not true!” I defend myself, but there’s nothing really to defend. He’s 100% right and _ **_that’s_ ** _ what kills me.  _

_ “Oh, sorry, dear wife,” he says bitingly. “You were my beard. Now, get the fuck off my property before I call the cops.” _

_ “John, please. I do love you. Please.” I’m trying not to cry again.  _

_ He stares at me with a hard look in his eyes. “If you think I’m yours, don’t. The only thing I’m thankful for from you is my daughter.” _

_ I gasp. “Please, John. Be reasonable. We can fix this.”  _

_ “If you were on fire, I wouldn’t piss on you. I’d bring marshmallows. Tell me, can you fix that?” He watches me, as I try to figure out the solution. “I didn’t think so. I will have my divorce now and full custody of Rosie.” _

_ “Fine! Take it! What do I care?” I shout, turning away from Baker Street. “I hate you John Watson! I hope a thousand fire ants bite your dick off!” I hiss as I walk away. _

_ I don’t wait for a response,  I pull my phone out. I dial the lawyer Mycroft gave me. I wait as they connect me to him.  _

_ “Hello, I’m Mary Watson. My husband—” I swallow hard, not wanting to say the next word. “Is uh, divorcing me. I’d like you to give him his divorce and fuck all about custody. I don’t care if I ever see the brat again. I want you to include a clause that states John Watson is not allowed to ever marry Sherlock Holmes. It must be worded exactly like that. No, it’s very important that it’s stated just like that.”  _


	4. Help me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is completely racy. Pay attention to those tags! 
> 
> Some BDSM times for our boys and with some angst.
> 
> Beta'd by my friend Holdt. THANK YOU SO MUCH <3
> 
> Arya, this is all you. Whore germs and angst.

John

 

I watch my daughter walk away with her mother, and it feels like something I can’t survive. I draw in several breaths, and turn to my boyfriend. “Can we just go home? Cancel with Greg. I just can’t-”

“Yeah, of course, my love. Let’s go home.” 

He takes my hand, and leads me to a cab. The ride home is quiet. I am stuck in my head, and I can’t explain to him what I’m thinking. Terrible thoughts. 

_ My poor daughter. What have I done leaving her with that harpy? God, I hope Mary listens to her! She knows herself better than anyone- _

I feel Sherlock’s hand on my hair. Somehow my head is on his shoulder and he’s running his fingers through my hair. 

I go through the motions when the cab stops. Slowly I pull myself out of the car, and up the stairs. I see Mrs. Hudson and avoid her glance. She’ll understand.

_ I need tea. _

I make it upstairs, and fall apart in the kitchen. 

I hear Sherlock rather than see him. He comes to me and pulls me into his safe haven.

I’m crying in Sherlocks arms and I know that he wants to help me. I can’t turn it off I don’t know how that woman is going to hurt my daughter and ruin her in someway. It’s not fair I didn’t want her to go with Mary. I want her to stay here with me and I want her to grow up to be a good woman. I don’t want Mary’s poison to affect Rosie’s soul.

“Help me.” I whisper to Sherlock. 

He’s right there with me he’s holding me as I sob. I know he’s helpless but I can’t help him when I need help myself. 

“Tell me how.” He says. His voice thick too. He must be crying only I can’t tell because I’m sobbing so loudly.

“Vatican cameos.”

There’s nothing else I can say. Either he’ll get it or he won’t. Either way, we’ll be no worse off than we are now.

_ Sherlock loves me _ .  _ He’ll understand _ . 

Sherlock kisses me gently on the top of my head and releases me. He walks into the bathroom I hear him wash his face and brush his teeth. 

_ He understood me. Sherlock Holmes always gets me. Sherlock always fixes me.  _

I stand in the living room and cry. I try to reign it in. I fail miserably. 

 

Sherlock appears in the entrance of the bathroom. I eye him carefully to see where his head is at. 

Obviously, the game is on. 

“Are you done crying like a little bitch?“ he asks me, with a deepness in his voice that wasn’t there before. 

_ He’s here. My Lord is here. _

“I asked you a question, soldier.” he growls at me. He walks over to me and grabs a fistful of my hair, using it to push me to my knees. “Did I fucking stutter, slut? Are you gonna fucking answer me?”

“I’m done crying, my Lord.” I snivel. 

He walks behind me and trails a long finger up my spine. As his finger travels up, my back stiffens under it. The gentlest reminder to sit up straight.  

“Keep your head down, slut. These pants cost more than your fucking apartment. I don’t fancy having to throw them away because some stupid soldier couldn’t keep his bodily fluids to himself.” 

I lower my head and keep my hands behind my back. I chew my lip in anticipation. I can sense him walking around me, but I don’t know what he’s going to do. 

_ I trust you. I trust you. Good Lord, do I trust you.   _

“Soldier, when I gave you your original instructions was I not clear that the moment the game is on, you don’t have clothes on? Because as I see it you’re still dressed. What happens when my slut disobeys me?”

“You punish me.” I whisper hoarsely,  half from crying and half from arousal.

“Fetch me the scissors.” he commands me. 

I crawl across the kitchen to get the scissors out of the drawer, place them in my teeth and race back to him on my hands and knees. I hold the scissors in my teeth until he offers me his hand for them. When he does, I drop them into his palm. 

They fall out of his hand and to the floor. I hasten to bend over, to place them again. No sooner have the scissors hit his palm than I feel a hard slap across my cheek. I groan with the impact but do not respond further. The next slap comes from the other direction.

I sit still, on the floor with my feet tucked under my arse, my hands folded behind my back and my head tilted down. 

I wait, feeling his heat behind me. He’s close to action, but I can’t anticipate it. 

 

Swiftly, my Lord grabs a handful of my jumper. He places the scissors at the bottom hem to cut it off of me. I realize what he’s doing and I struggle against him.

“This is my favorite jumper!”

My Lord takes his arm holding the scissors and presses it into my throat in a modified chokehold. I hear him counting. Is it how many hits I’ll receive or how long until I black out?

Now is the time that my erection rears its head. I hear his dark chuckle behind me. “Oh, so soldiers like it rough, then? Stay still, and I’ll be merciful. Move and all bets are off the table.”

He loosens his grip on me, and I take my opportunity to slip out of his arms. Despite his warning, I try to get away from him. He flings his entire body on mine, pressing his knee into my plugged up arse. I shout in dissatisfaction. 

“You’re always so willful.” Gently he strokes my face with the sharp end of the scissors. With his other hand he pulls thick, fraying rope out of his pocket. He places the scissors in my teeth again so his hands are free; I wrap my lips carefully around the cold metal. Climbing on top of me properly, he pulls my hands behind my back. Then he ties them together, twisting my shoulders painfully. I howl in displeasure, but my Lord takes his hand and grinds my face into the carpet. 

“Sluts don’t get an opinion.”

I whimper my displeasure. He chuckles again. He must’ve shifted off me, because he flips me over and pulls me to my knees. “Now, if I may? I’d like to continue to undress you. Be a good slut and sit still.” 

_ I don’t want to be good. I don’t want to sit still. I want to destroy something. Anything. Myself. _

Again he jams the scissors up my sweater and starts to cut. I twist away ineffectively, but he saw it coming; it’s no use. He continues to cut my sweater off my body. Task completed, he pulls it down my arms and ties it around my bound hands. He pushes me flat on my stomach and begins to cut up my trousers leg. I sob quietly as he holds me down. I try to kick my legs, but he has anticipated that, too. He holds me down regardless of how I writhe. 

“Please.” I cry. “Please, please, that was my favorite jumper, my Lord.” 

“I don’t remember saying you could speak, slut. But I also didn’t say you couldn’t.” He stops talking to concentrate on cutting my trousers and underpants off. The edge of the metal is sharp and cold against my skin, the threat clear. He spreads my legs apart, then ties my ankles together with that same rope from before. I try half-heartedly to kick at him again as he works.

“Is my slut bored? Do I bore you?” He asks commandingly.

“Never, my Lord!” 

“I don’t know what to do with you. I give and I give and all you do is defy me. How am I supposed to take care of you when you’re such a willful, arrogant little prick?”

I don’t respond, turning my face away from him. He hauls me to my knees again, and roughly pushes my head downward. Again the pressure from the plug makes itself known. 

“I still like my pants better than you.” he says, bitingly. 

I fight down the sob raising up in my chest. 

He grabs my face and tips it up to him. “Look at your lips. All swollen from biting them. Does my boy need something to do with his mouth?”

I nod, with a tiny whimper.  Tears still flowing down my cheeks. “Please, my Lord.” 

Gently he strokes my face, while he thinks. “I owe you nine swats with my belt before we start anything properly.”

I swallow hard, then nod. “At your leisure, sir.” 

“So should I use the buckle or the leather?”

“Whatever will teach your lesson most effectively, my Lord.” I know better than to try to wipe my face. He’d never allow it, so I focus on stopping the flow of tears. 

“So now you’re behaving. Mmm.” he says, still stroking my face. 

He uses both his hands to force my mouth open, thumbs digging into the hinge of my jaw. I struggle against him, trying to fight still. 

He chuckles again. “Ten.” 

I willingly open my mouth. He sticks his fingers in and I suck, weaving my tongue through his fingers, liberally leaving a wet trail behind. He pulls them out, and grabs a fistful of my hair in the other hand. 

“Open my trousers.” he commands. 

Eagerly, I lean forward to work the buttons on his pants. In my haste, I accidentally pop one off. 

“Eleven.” 

I spit the button out and slowly work at pulling them down. He pulls his cock out of his pants, and makes sure they are still mostly on. 

I’m gazing happily at his hard cock, so I miss the wind up for the hard slap that lands on my cheek. 

I gasp, lowering my eyes. 

“What a good cockslut.” He purrs at me, still tugging on my hair. 

He releases me and walks to my chair, careful not to further damage his pants, and throws himself into it. “Come, slut.” 

I shuffle over to him as fast as I’m able to, hobbled on just my knees. 

“Now let’s use your pretty mouth for its intended purpose. My pleasure.”

With some slight assistance from my Lord, I eagerly pull his cock into my mouth . He groans as I work my tongue around his cockhead. It’s slightly swollen and leaking a bit. I slurp at his cock, lavishing all my attentions on it. 

He strokes my hair, smiling at me. “God damn it.” he growls, as his pupils expand in arousal. “You are such a picture. Your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, working it---ahhh...” 

I swallow him down, hollowing my cheeks and pressing my tongue into his cock as it slides down my throat. I repeat the motion a few times, until he suddenly pops me off his cock.

I whine, complaining the loss. He sighs, then pushes me back. I teeter over, but with a hand on my head, he guides me back to sitting once he’s on his feet. He pulls me up, then throws me onto the chair he’s vacated. I land with a thud. 

He walks away from me, but I dare not move. 

 

_ Eleven hits with the belt buckle. Jesus fuck. _

He comes back with his belt-- _ not surprising- _ -water, and ibuprofen. He holds the water out to me, and pops the medication into my mouth. Obediently, I drink the water and swallow. 

_ This is new. _ I want to giggle because his pants are still open and hanging off his hips. His cock is hard and poking out when he lays the belt aside. 

“I need to stretch you a bit.” he says abruptly, setting the water glass aside. He grabs my left leg and stretches it for me. He repeats the process in the right leg. He holds the longer than necessary rope that binds my ankles loosely, and walks around me like a may day pole. 

Slipping the rope over the back of my chair, my Lord then comes back around front of me. He pulls my hips down, so I’m laying on my back with my shoulders in the back crook of the chair. I wiggle my toes, and flex my neck. I nod, and he nods back.

I watch him as he takes a step back to admire the view. I squirm slightly, and I see him eye the butt plug. He grabs up his belt and holds it out to me, demandingly, to lick. Hesitant, I lick the leather end. He grins at me, lecherously. 

He starts hitting me. His first blow lands mostly on my right arse cheek. He then switches to the left arse cheek for a few strokes.  

_ Fuck counting. I know it will only bring more trouble, but I don’t care _ . 

 

My Lord doesn’t use the metal buckle but it still stings. 

“Disobedient slut!” he cries finally. “You didn’t count.”  

I choke on a sob, but nod. “Will you try again, sir? I won’t fail you this time.” 

“Ah,” My Lord says, with an almost tender smile. “I’m too soft on you, boy. Count this time.” 

With each hit, I say a number. My voice getting more hysterical with each slap of hard leather. He adds five additional for my disobedience. 

_ You deserve this, _ I remind myself.

When he’s done, he runs his the cold belt buckle over it. I hiss in pain.

“Color?” he gasps, aroused.

“Green, my sir. Always green.” I pant, as he pulls the plug out of my arse. I feel his come from last night drip down my crack. I shiver at the deliciousness. 

He sticks his fingers rudely in my arse, and probes without concern. He hits the nerve bundle once, and my cock starts leaking.

“Slut.” he says, lazily pinching my nipples in his other hand. 

He lines his cock up with my arsehole, and pushes in. It feels like just enough pressure to be able to breathe again.

“You look so pretty trussed up like this.” He compliments me, and pulls my phone out of his pocket. He snaps several photos before tossing the phone onto his chair. 

I flex my hips up to his with a whine.

“Such an eager slut.” he purrs, then slowly moves his hips. “God, boy. You should see yourself right now. All sweaty and bent in half.” I meet his hips with mine. I slow to match his speed. 

“Please, my Lord. Please.” I whine. “Faster, please.” I pant, but I see him grin deliciously. 

He doesn’t speed up, but pushes in deeper. I try to work my hips faster, but he holds me still. 

I whine. “Please, my Lord. Faster.” 

My text tone goes off. 

He freezes and squints at my phone. “It’s her.” He growls, thrusting again into my welted, hot arse.

“Let’s see what she has to say. Don’t fucking move or I’ll piss on you.” 

I whimper, as he pulls out and grabs my phone again. 

“We’re having cake for lunch,” he reads out loud. Sir looks at me with a very pointed look, “Care to respond?” 

I stay absolutely statue still. “However you see fit, my Lord”  

My Lord smiles at me. “What a good slut!” 

_ For you! For you, I’m trying. _

He turns back to me with a delicious smile. “Now, let’s get back to fucking you.”

He slides my phone back into his pocket, walks over to me, and slams himself inside me.

Deep and fast. The way I’ve been begging for. I flex up into him, and he presses all of his weight onto my hips. It hurts; a yelp escapes me.

He sighs as if I’ve disappointed him. “I thought this was going really well, and now.” He sighs again, and pulls out. 

Whining in protest, I pant, “Please, sir, please.”

He gives me a intensely sharp look, as he tucks his dick into his pants. He retreats into the bedroom and comes out with a different plug. He places it in my arse with no resistance. 

I complain with vocalizations, but no words.

 

“Now.” he says, walking over to his chair. He stands in front of his violin and music stand. “You just stay there, and I’ll entertain myself somehow since you’ve ruined my fun.” 

He picks up the violin and loses himself in the music. I whimper and wiggle as he plays. 

_ This new plug sucks! I can’t—   _

I freeze in my wiggling, hoping he didn’t see me. 

He is still lost in his music.

Or so I think, until I feel a pulsing vibration in my arse.

I jump at it.

I hear him chuckle, but the music is still playing.

_ Oh, neat. _

My Lord lounges in his chair, playing on his phone. The violin music comes through the speakers. 

Again, the plug vibrates right on my prostate. 

I whine, and writhe. 

“Something the matter my slut?”

“I want you, please my Lord.” 

“Oh, dear,” he says, tucking his phone into his pocket. He comes over to me and runs his fingers over my stretched out thighs. He leans over and starts biting down up thigh to where my cock stands. I’m moaning and wiggling under his mouth.

He skips over my cock, and lays more bites down the opposite thigh. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, between bites. 

I consider his question, and when I don’t answer fast enough, he bites hard enough to draw blood. I squirm under his mouth again, and pant, before looking down to watch him lick my blood clean. 

“I believe I asked you how are you feeling?” he says, vibrating the plug again. 

I jump, and pant out. “Better.” 

He opens his pants, and pulls the plug out quickly. Then he presses into me, slowly, taking his time to bury himself in me.

I whine against him, but don’t wiggle my hips. 

“If you move again, I’m going to put the plug back in and make you wear it down to New Scotland Yard.” he tells me, fucking my arse. 

He thrusts with each word. “I. Will. Press. The. Button. While. You’re. Talking. To. Lestrade. I. Will. Tell. Everyone. Present. Why. You’re. So. Uncomfortable.”

I moan, loudly. “My Lord, please! Touch me.” I cry, straining to hold every muscle still. 

 

A loud creak from the apartment door draws our attention to it. 

“Hey Sherlock, I brought those old case files by like you asked.” Greg Lestrade says as he walks in the door. 

Greg freezes like a deer in headlights when he sees what we’re doing. 

In my mind I can see it it from his perspective: my Lord wearing his suit, slightly sweaty, as he buries his cock in my arse. Me bent in half with a red arse and my feet above my head. Good lord. 

“Oh, hullo, Graham.” Sir grins at him, his curls bouncing a bit more than normal. “Just put them by the door. That’ll be fine.” 

“Uh. Hi.” he says, flabbergasted.  I feel a pink flush working up and down my neck. 

A pinch on my stomach reminds me to be kind. 

“Hello, Greg. Nice to see you again.” 

“Boring day at work then, Lestrade?” My lord says tauntingly. “I’d invite you to stay and join us, but well, this slut.” Here he pinches me again. “He’s been dreadful today. So willfully disobedient. He wasn’t showing his best self at all.” 

“Maybe next time?” I try to offer kindly. 

“Uh, yeah. Maybe.” Greg responds, shifting. 

“Hey mate, maybe not mention this down at the yard?” I ask, and receive another pinch in the same spot as the first two. 

“Oh, yeah. I was heading home anyway.”

“Ta, mate!” I say cheerily, as he shuts the door.

 

Before I have a chance to comment, Sir starts to fuck me in earnest. Slamming his body aggressively into mine, gripping tightly on my hips, he holds me in place as he fucks me. 

“Fuck, boy.” He whines, “For your cheek with Grayson, you aren’t coming today.” 

I cry out in shock. “Sir, please!” I try.

He stops moving his hips to grab my hair and pull it tightly. “Shut your fucking mouth and stop ruining my orgasm. You are still just my toy.” he reminds me.

I swallow thickly, and lower my eyes. 

He sees me calm down and starts to fuck me roughly again.

In and out he works his hips. He keeps pulling almost all the way out, and slamming back in.  Tilting his hips, my Lord starts to bang into my prostate with every strike.

He groans, gripping my hips even more tightly. Finally, I feel him orgasm, cock jerking against my prostate, spurting several times. 

I cry out, and orgasm myself, shooting stripes all over my stomach.

Fury flashes in his eyes.

_ Fuck! _

He pulls out of me, and slams the plug from last night back in. 

 

He stalks off to the bedroom, and comes back with the riding crop.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you.” He growls at me. “I won’t have you count, because you’re going to do whatever the fuck you want anyway.”

He starts at the bend of my knees and work down my thighs to my arse. The hits come repeatedly. Mercilessly. I cry, writhe, and whine as my Lord disciplines me. 

My text tone goes off again. He pulls my phone out of his pocket, exasperated. 

“On my way! Emergency came up. Mary Watson.” He reads to me. “Mmm. That gives me about fifteen minutes to finish this project.” he says, slipping the phone away and getting back into the swing of it.

My Lord picks up where he left off, and starts cropping my thighs again. Once he finishes, he steps back to admire his handiwork. 

I sigh under his appreciation. I feel amazing now, and I think he can tell. 

He drops the crop, and pulls the rope off my chair. 

“Eight minutes.” He falls onto his knees, and unties my legs. Rubbing my feet, he touches and examines each of my toes. Satisfied, he stands to pull me to my feet.

“I can’t do this.” I say aloud. “I can’t talk to Mary and not lose my shit.”

“I know you can.” Sherlock disagrees, kissing my feet.

Slowly he turns me around to untie the ruined sweater and then the rope.  He looks at my wrists and wiggles my fingers. 

“Sherlock.” I say, “Thank you.” 

He stands up, and pulls me close to him, kisses whatever skin he can reach. 

“My John. Are you better?” he asks, tentatively. 

I nod, and kiss his throat. “Thank you.” 

“Five minutes.” he warns, dragging me to the bathroom. I stand still with my red, aching bottom and thighs for inspection, as he quickly administers the topical corticosteroid to reduce inflammation. 

I hear his phone ringing as I shuffle off to the bedroom to grab new pants. I pull them on, and groan as I realize Sherlock just ruined my last pair of jeans. Grabbing a pair of khakis, I pull them on instead, whimpering slightly at the pain. I grab a fresh jumper for on top and pull it over my head. 

Socks now, and I try to walk as I pull them on. 

“Two minutes!” Sherlock calls, as he scoops up the ruined clothes. “I’ll buy you new jeans.”

“Don’t throw those scissors away!” I call, as I stuff my feet quickly into my shoes. 

 

I run down the stairs, and slam the door behind me just as a taxi pulls up.

I take a deep breath to pull myself completely out of subspace and back into Dad space. 

_ Stay calm. _

I watch them step out  of the taxi.

“Hey, Ro!” I call, trying to sound cheery. I crouch down to her level. She runs into my arms and sniffles, wiping her face on my arm. 

“Hi Daddy.” She says, glumly. “I don't want to talk to  _ her _ anymore.”

“That’s ok, lovey girl.” I kiss her cheek.

Rosie looks at her Mum, then runs in the building. I hear her crying as she goes. 

As I stand up in one fluid motion. I brush invisible dust off my outfit and hope she doesn’t notice I’m wearing something different than earlier. 

“She says she’s not feeling her best and to give you her regards. You must have fucked up badly if she doesn’t even hug you.” I turn to Mary. She looks… Happy. 

_ Are you fucking kidding me? She’s abandoning my daughter to go kill someone. _

“John, I really am very sorry.” 

_ You know what, Mar? Fuck you. How about that? _

“Save it. Get yourself a lawyer. I’m done with you.” 

“John we need to talk.” She says, as I stare at her. 

_ Are you fucking kidding me? _

“Why? So you can tell me what a lousy spouse I am?” I ask, inquiringly.

“No. So we can fix what’s broken in our relationship!” She looks aghast that I know she thinks I’m a bad husband. 

I step closer to her, anger flowing through me. “There is no us. I don’t want you. Marrying you was a waste of my time. It distracted me from Sherlock.” My heart skips a bit here, and I swallow hard. “The marriage only confirmed my hetrosexuality to observers. Marrying you was to prove how straight I was. I mean, I never was straight. I was always bisexual, but fucking you corrupted me so badly, I’ve lost all zest for women.” I spit at her in disgust. 

“John, you don’t mean that.”

_ I fucking do mean it and if you think—  _

I inhale and exhale deeply.  “I have never meant anything more. Get out of here.” I step towards her again, and grab her wrists. I must have grabbed her too hard because she starts crying.

Pure emotion is fueling me currently. 

“You disgust me. You’ll fuck anything that’ll open up for you. You’re a whore, John Watson.”

“Thank you!” I say to her with the biggest smile ever, as if she’s just said the kindest thing to me. 

“You’re a psychopath. I don’t know why I love you.” 

_ Oooo raise your voice at me! _ I think, laughing at her tears, flexing my grip on her wrists. I pull her closer to me, to say in a low deadly voice.  “You think I’m a psychopath? Hello pot. I’m kettle.” 

“You’re a danger slut. You move in with a psychopath and then you marry one! I think you’re fucked up, John.”

_ Are you hearing your crazy?  _

“He’s a high functioning  _ sociopath  _ and I’d rather be his slut, than your husband.”

_ I mean I  _ **_am_ ** _ his slut. _ I grin at this thought.

“Ooo, good come back! What happened to the man I fell in love with? Safe, strong, sexy John.”

_ Oh, bitch. _

“Did you ever know me? I mean, truthfully. You saw what you wanted to see. Someone who was broken, stupid, easy to hide behind. You only married me to put AGRA behind you. Plus you’re a sick fuck. You prey on the weak—” I’m grinning because  _ I am his slut! _

“That’s not true!” She bleats like a baby goat.

“Oh, sorry, dear wife.” I roll my eyes, and lace my voice with authority. “You were my beard. Now, get the fuck off my property before I call the cops.”

“John, please. I do love you. Please.”

_ Shut the fuck up and leeeeeave! _ I roar internally. 

Instead I tell her, “If you think I’m yours, don’t. The only thing I’m thankful for is my daughter.”

“Please, John. Be reasonable. We can fix this.” 

I laugh in her face. 

“If you were on fire, I wouldn’t piss on you. I’d bring marshmallows. Tell me, can you fix that? I didn’t think so. I will have my divorce now and full custody of Rosie.” 

_ Flushing? Are you seriously turned on right now? You’re fucking disgusting.  _

_ Although, I’m a fine one to talk. Consensual. _ I remind myself.

“Fine! Take it! What do I care? I hate you John Watson! I hope a thousand fire ants bite your dick off!” she calls me to as she walks away.

 

I watch her walk away. I find myself wishing I believed in a higher power. I’d start praying that it was the last time I ever saw her. I sigh with relief, and go inside.

At the top of the stairs, my daughter lies curled up on my boyfriend’s lap. They both look at me when I enter. 

Cries of ‘Daddy!’ and  ‘John!’ intermingle, so I join them on the couch. 

“Shh. Shh.” I say soothingly to them both. Sherlock’s has tears in his eyes. Sherlock leans into me. Rosie crawls half on my lap, half on Sherlock’s.

“Daddy! I hate her!” She cries. 

Sherlock and both reach for her to pull her into our arms. She reaches for me, and buries her face on my stomach. Sherlock rubs her back. I stroke her head.

“I’m sure you did amazing with her!” my boyfriend tries to comfort her.

“Shut up, Lockie!” 

“Absolutely not!” I say before Sherlock can respond. “Lockie’s trying to make you feel better. Go to your room.”  

“I’m sorry, Daddy!” she says, with a rush of tears. 

“Go to your room. I’m livid right now.” I say, evenly. 

She marches up the stairs angrily.

I sigh and lean against Sherlock. “Jesus christ!”

“You sound like yourself.” Sherlock smiles at me. I lean into kiss him. He strokes my cheek before he kisses me.

I enjoy myself, feeling whole inside. 

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess.” 

“I’m by your side for everything. You know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” he says, with a grin. “This afternoon was so much fun.”

I look at him with a grin. “I’m pretty sure I’m never going to be able to handle you wearing a belt again. You made me lick it!”

“Sadist!” He says with a shrug, and another grin. “Thank fuck you’re a masochist.”

“You did fuck me pretty good.” I admit, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“You’re a really good dad.” He says suddenly.

“Uh, thank you.” I say with a hint of surprise in my voice. 

“Daddy.” Rosie calls from upstairs. “Can I come down now?”

“Are you ready to apologize to your dads?”

“Yes, Daddy.” She says, as she peaks her face out from behind her door. She comes over to me, and kisses my cheek. “I’m sorry Daddy for disrespecting Lockie.”

“I accept your apology.” 

“Lockie, I’m so sorry I hurt your heart. I was upset and not my best self.” 

He pulls her into his arms, and kisses her head. “I forgive you baby. Can we go to the museum tomorrow? Today’s been such a stressful day for all of us.”

“Yes, please, Lockie. Can we go for all day?” 

“Of course, baby!” He says with a smile.

_ I’m the luckiest son of a bitch that’s ever walked this earth. _

 

I sit in my chair drinking the dregs of the tea. My boyfriend has just come back after walking our daughter to school. I was lost in thought about my next novel. When I look up and see my boyfriend pacing in front of me, I was in shock.

“What did you say, Sherl?” I inquire, a little confused. 

“Back to being willful again?” He teases me. 

I smile at him, my lower lip between my teeth. “Not yet, my love.”

“But it's been three whole weeks!” He whines, then spots my empty tea cup. “I’ll make you tea, if you sub for me today.”

I chuckle at him. “My love, you know that’s not how this works.” 

He sighs. “I know, John. My head is just so loud today. I keep re-reading those old case files and all those words are chasing each other.”

I smile at him, and hold up my tea cup. “More, please?” 

He grabs it and disappears into the kitchen. “John, why are you out of bed so early?”

“Oi!” I shout, half-heartedly. “I was up at 07:00 today.” 

“Rosie woke you up.” He points out. I can hear his smile.

“Your brain is so loud.” I complain, with a grin. “I can hear it out here.” 

He comes back in the room. “John, are you happy with me?”

“Yes, of course, my love.” 

“Do you feel like I’m a good partner?”

“Getting better all the time.” I acknowledge. 

“So, I know that you like to sub and you like fucking me.”

“All correct so far.” 

“You’re really sexy. You are a good dad.”

“Uh, thank you.”  

“And you’re clever.” He says as he leaves the room to collect my tea. He comes back. He hands it to me, and places a kiss on my forehead. “I adore you, John Hamish.”

“And I, you.”

He moves away to pace into the kitchen, around the table, back into the room where I’m sitting, over the table, up on the couch and back again. 

“But the thing is. Mary’s fucked us. Hasn’t she? She’s put a bad taste in your mouth.”

“What?”

“Mary, John. Do keep up.” 

“Yes I’m there.” I try to follow his thinking. I used to try to think a step ahead, but that’s always proved fatal in the past, so I stopped doing that. 

“Well, Mary has fucked you. She has taken an idea you have held in high esteem and wrecked it. That’s less than ideal, although I never wanted it until I saw you… Well, with her.”

“Lockie-”

“Marriage, my love.” He interrupts me, with a grin.

“Marriage?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you talking about marriage?”

“Because I want it.”

“Marriage?”

“Yes, John. Do keep up.”  

“You want a marriage.”

“With you, obviously.” Sherlock says, casually. He’s still flapping around the room, in a whirlwind. “John, you need to keep up.”

“I’m trying, lover, but you’re not making sense!” 

There was a knock on the door. Sherlock waves his hand at me to answer it.  “Oh, you cock! You’re pacing, answer it.”

He looks at me disdainfully then flings it open, muttering to himself.

“Oh, Hello. I’m-”

“The lawyer.” Sherlock says, waving his hands around.

“Ignore my boyfriend, he’s stuck on a thought that you interrupted. Come in.” I stand up and take her hand. I shake it, then point to the client’s chair. She sits smoothly. 

“John, do you want it too?”

“Yes, love. Please. Give me two minutes.”

“No, John. I need to ask you now.” 

Pacing still.

I make a face that says “excuse me” to the lawyer, and turn towards Sherlock’s pacing figure. “You have my attention, swe-”

“John Hamish Watson, will you marry me? Once you’re divorced of course, but I can wait. I’ve already waited seven years. Another year or so won’t kill me.” 

“Sherlock, what did you say?”

“Ugh, John!” he says, falling to his knees in front of me. “I hate repeating myself.”

“I’m just making sure I heard you correctly.”

“I asked you to marry me.” He says, taking my hands. “Really, I’d be lost without my blogger.”

“Right, but I’m still married to Mary.” 

“Semantics.” Sherlock says, flushing red. He dismisses my words with a wave of his hand (and knowing him, they probably showed up in the air). “Please, John. Pledge yourself to me. That’ll be sweeter than any dessert I’ve ever had, any sex we’ve ever had-”

“Sherlock!” I say, now flushing. “Oh, go away with you, succubus.”

“Not until you agree. Think of Rosie, John. She deserves to have two parents who love her and are committed to her.”

I scoff here. “Sherlock! We can’t!”

“Oh, the lady doth protest too much!” Sherlock grins. “Go on, say yes. You know you want to!”  He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and kisses both my palms.

“Oh, to the devil with you!” I chuckle at him. He smiles up at me, and nods.

“That sounds like a yes to me.” He stands up, and returns to his pacing. I turn to the lawyer.

“So?” I ask.

She’s red in the face. “The divorce has stalled.”

“Stalled?”

“Well, it means there’s a request that you’ll not want to meet to have the divorce granted.”

“Is she trying to keep my kid?”

“Absolutely not.” The lawyer pauses, then clears her throat. “Mrs. Watson added a clause that states Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes are not to wed.”

“What did you say?” Sherlock asks, pointing to the lawyer. 

“Mrs. Watson has added—”

“That’s not her name. She was never Mary Morstan.” He mutters to the whole room, but it was only meant for him. 

I glance at him, pulling on his ridiculous belstaff and moving to walk out of the door. “I’ve got to go see Greg, love.” Sherlock says, kissing my head. 

“Be kind to him!” I call, hoping he heard me. 

He heads out of the door, and I sigh. “Is that legal?”

The lawyer sighs. “It’s murky, legally speaking.”

“So fight it!”

“I have been!” she exclaims.

“Well, figure it out!” I counter. “Myc said you were the best! So fix this! Make it work!” 

“Dr. Watson, I have been fighting this! They refuse to give it up. I’m going to have to go to court—”

“Then do it!” I respond, savagely. “This woman is a demon. I can not remain married to her. So please.” I try to say kindly. “Find a way around this.”


	5. End of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and John part. 
> 
> Technially this is the end, but I figured one more chapter of cute Johnlock love is in order. <3
> 
> Leave kudos, leave comments. Tell me what you're thinking.

Mary

 

I sat at the nurse’s station, chatting with some old nursing friends of mine. I had just been to the ER to get a couple stitches. Once I was fixed up, (and they gave me scrub pants to wear as mine were tattered from the barbed wire) I wandered up to my old floor to chat with my friends.

“Mary!” one of the woman gasps. I never learned her name, but she knew mine well enough. “Dr. Stagger is getting divorced!”

I widen my eyes in shock, then grin widely. Dr. Stagger is a blonde, stocky, sexy pulmonologist that used to flirt with me. “That stinks for his wife.” I say, smirking. I pull out of my cell phone. I chew my lip as I type. 

_Hey Dr. S. Just heard the news about the divorce. I’d like to say that I’m sorry, but then I’d be lying. MW_

_Hey nurse Mary! It’s a little surprising to hear from you. MS_

_Want to fuck? MW_

_Meet me in the on call room in 10 minutes. MS_

I grin to myself, and turn back to the other nurses. 

“I’ve got to go.” I hear the general din as I exit the nurse’s station.and made my way to the on-call room where I throw myself onto the doctor’s bed. 

I pull my phone out to see a message from John.

 

_Don’t forget Rosie has ballet class tonight at 16:00. JW_

_I know my daughter’s schedule. MW_

_She was late last time. She was crying when I picked her up. JW_

_Sucks to be you. MW_

 

“Hey, Mary.” I hear a tired, kind voice say.

“Hi Dr. Stagger.”

“Matt.” he says, with a knowing smile. He shuts the door behind him and I hear it lock.  “I’m very sorry to hear about John being a faggot.”

I shrug. “I should have caught it sooner.”  I pat the bed beside me, as I glance down at my phone. Three messages from John. “What happened with you?” 

“She’s leaving me to become a nun.” 

“Damn.” I say, with awe in my voice. 

“It is what it is.”

_Jesus, you already look like John, now you have to talk like him?_

“I imagine you don’t have much time.” I say, lowering myself to my knees. I untie his scrubs, and start to tug them down.

“We have enough time to do this properly. 

I shake my head, and continue to free his dick. “I like quick fucks.”

I stroke it a few times, then glance up at him. “Are you clean?”

 “What? Yeah!”

I nod, then wrap my lips around his head. Slowly I swirl my tongue around it, letting my mind wander.

I see John on his knees, Sherlock’s cock in his mouth. The ridiculous belstaff flapping around John. 

I push those thoughts away, as I swallow Matt’s dick down. I bob up and down several times while I play with his balls.

He pushes me back. “Mary, wait.” I sit back, and pull my own pants down to my knees. I let him have his moment, while I finger myself. I put on a show for him, moaning loudly, and gasping. I mean, I enjoy mastrubating but I really like coming from fucking. I’m one of the rare women who can come from intercourse. Well, John always told me that it was rare.

As I rub myself, I hear John moan Sherlock’s name. I see him fly to thousands of pieces while Sherlock rams into him.

“Fuck me, Matt.” I gasp, pulling my fingers out. I pull myself up and slip off my scrub pants.  I slowly lower myself down on his dick. It’s thick and fills me out well. Slowly I start to move my hips slowly, teasingly.

“God, Mary.” He groans. “I’m going to stand up. I like it a bit rougher.” He rasps, propelling us forward. I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. He slams me into the wall, and I moan. He starts pounding into me, while I work my hips slowly.

I place my lips on his, while he’s pounding in and out of me. I kiss him, then slip in my tongue. He adds his own.

I moan. “ _John_... don’t stop.”

Matt’s entire body tenses up, then he pushes sharply away from the wall.. and me. I fall to the ground gracelessly, banging my elbow off the wall. I sit for a minute on the cool linoleum floor, cradling my elbow. I exhale loudly. “Jesus, I’m sorry Matt.”

“Clearly you’re not over John, so I don’t think we should continue.”

 “No, you’re wrong. I’m absolutely here in the moment with you.”

  _Liar, liar, pants on fire. Well they would be if you were wearing any._

 “Mary, I don’t want to fuck you any longer.” 

I exhale, scrambling to my feet to snatch my scrub pants up, and pull them on before grabbing my phone from the bed to glare at him. “You are a terrible clit tease.” 

“You called me by your husband’s name,” he says, reasonably. “I am no one’s sloppy seconds.”

 “Apparently you’re God’s,” I say, storming out of the room. I keep my head low until I find a bathroom to hide in.

I lock the door behind me after making sure no one’s in there. I walk over to the sink and wash my face, dry it off with some paper towels, then grab my phone. Five messages from John.

 

 _“Sucks to be you?” Very mature. JW_  

 _Just be there on time. JW_  

_I don’t care if you hate me, do it for Rosie. JW_

_Mary, Rosie hates to be late. She hates how it makes her feel like she’s in trouble. JW_

_Nevermind. I’ll pick her up from school and take her. JW_  

I sigh, and text him back.

_Don’t bother. Rosie will be at dance early. MW_

A few minutes later, I receive:

_Thank you for being the mother our daughter needs. JW_

 

I tuck my phone away, and look in the mirror one last time. I exit the bathroom, and make my way to the tube. I hop on, and attempt to ride to Rosie’s school in peace.

I squirm a bit in my seat. I’m still wet and horny. _Fuck._

I look across the bus to see a young blonde man smiling at me. I look around, and stand up. I slide into his seat next to him. “I’m Mary.”

 “James.” He smiles, kindly.

 “Listen, I don’t know if you’re a serial murder or a rapist, but I’m really horny and I’d like to fuck.”

 James laughs, with his full body. “That’s a very lovely offer, however, I’m gay.”

“Well, I guess that’s a no.” I laugh, smiling at him.

“Do you do this often? Accost random strangers to demand sex?” 

“No.” I laugh again, smiling. I can feel the smile all the way up to my eyes. “I’m in the midst of a tough divorce and I just got-”

“Oh!” James says, with a look of recognition. “You’re Dr. Watson’s wife.”

I groan, and shake my head. “I was his wife.” I correct. “I really-”

 “Did you know he was fucking Mr. Holmes?” 

I sigh, “James, it’s been lovely to meet you. I’m sorry I hit on you, especially since you’re a fan of John’s-”

 “How did you not know?” he says, as I stand up. 

“Because I’m in love with him.” I hiss, moving to get off the tube. He follows me. 

“This was my stop, anyway,” he says, defensively. “I don’t think you loved him as much as you claim to. Everyone thought Dr. Watson was gay for years. Even patients of his-” 

“James, really. I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“I just think you knew he was gay and lied to yourself.” 

“Go away!” I say, knowing his words are true.

 I go above ground, and head to my daughter’s school. James’ words ( _How did you not know? Everything one else did._ ) roll around my head.  I make it just as the walkers are brought out.  

“Hi Mum!” She smiles at me, and comes over to me. She quickly hugs my thigh, then lets me go. Still, a hug is a hug. 

“Hi, baby. Do you have your ballet stuff?” I ask. 

She nods, with a grin. “I love Ms. Angela. She’s so beautiful and graceful, Mum. She put her pointy shoes on and danced for us the other day.” 

“Pointe shoes. The ‘e’ is silent.” I correct, absentmindedly.

She sighs dramatically, but grins. “Yes, Mum.” She stays near enough to me, but doesn’t take my hand. “Can we go to Angelo’s? His dog just had puppies. Daddy said I can have one when they’re older.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know John liked dogs.”

“Not John Daddy. Lockie Daddy.” Rosie clarifies.

“Sure, we can go to Angelo’s. That’ll bring us closer to dance class.”

“Mum!” She says, excited. “Did you know Lockie used to dance? He said that he gave up ballet at 20, but only because he was in college.”

 _Drugs, not college,_ I correct mentally.

“I knew he used to dance. He showed me a video on youtube once.” 

“I want to see it!” she says, grabbing my hand and tugging.

“Let’s get to Angelo’s and I’ll see if I can find it.” I say.

“Ok, Mum!” She grins as she pulls me towards the restaurant. 

For once, all I can focus on is my daughter’s warm hand tucked in my own. It fits perfectly.

We’re at Angelo’s before I know it. She runs in the door, and I follow slowly. “Daddy!!” I hear her shout, as she runs over to Sherlock. Somewhat surprised, I watch him pick up her.

Hearing Rosie call Sherlock ‘Daddy’ feels like a knife in my chest.

“Hey, Bee. Are you here alone?” 

She kisses his cheek, and giggles. “No, Daddy. Mummy brought me.”  She points me out, and suddenly I feel unsure what to do.

“Mrs. Watson!” Angelo calls with a smile. “It’s been an age.” 

“John and Mary are divorcing, Angelo,” Sherlock says, sharply. 

“I know that, Mr. Holmes. Everyone does. But this is Mrs. Watson. That’s how I met her.”

I cut in. “Mary’s fine.”

“Daddy, can I go see the puppies? Please?”

“Of course you can, honey,” I say, with a smile.

“Thanks, Mummy!” she says, as Sherlock places her down. She runs upstairs, and Sherlock turns to me.

“Why are you here?”

“Rosie wanted to come here.”

He looks at me with an expression of pure hatred. “Don’t ever come here again. 

“Oi, Sherlock! Mrs. Watson is welcome here anytime.” Angelo interrupts Sherlock. “She’s a great tipper.” 

“It’s ok, Angelo.” I smile politely at Angelo.

“You can go.” Sherlock dismisses me, with a wave. “I’ll take my daughter to dance class.”

“Like hell you will!” I say.

He grits his teeth at me, and practically snarls. “I said I would take my daughter to dance class-”

“Daddy!” Rosie shouts running down the steps. “Are you taking me to ballet?”

“Mary and I were just discussing that,” Sherlock says, kindly.  

“I want Daddy to take me, Mummy!” she says, holding her arms out to Sherlock. He picks her up, and holds her tight against his hip. 

“Are you sure, love? I don’t mind,” I say, smiling at her. 

She smiles back, but shakes her head. “No, Mummy! I want Daddy to take me.” 

_Twist that knife, kid._

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” I try to smile kindly at Rosie. 

“Honey bee, why don’t you say goodbye to Mummy?”

Rosie runs over to me and hugs me. Sherlock clears his throat. 

“Thank you for bringing me to Angelo’s!” 

“Of course, baby. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Mum!” She runs back over to Sherlock and I turn away, feeling ill in my stomach. I leave Angelo’s and walk into my husband. 

 

_My ex- husband._

_No, still my current husband._

_My soon to be ex husband._

 

“Mary!” John says in surprise.

“Hi John,” I say with a shake of my head. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Our daughter-” 

He barks out a laugh, that I ignore.

“Wants a pup-”

“She’s getting one.”

 “Well, she’s in there,” I say, as I try to skirt around him.

“Alone?” he says with an edge to his tone, pushing by me.

“Yeah,” I say. “She’s what - seven? Why not?” I roll my eyes, walking away.

“You’re a vindictive cunt, you know that?” 

“Shut up!” I snap, turning back to him. “You knew exactly who I was when you married me! You knew I was a total bitch and you said, ‘I do’ anyway.”

“I didn’t have a choice. 

“In marrying me?” I ask, angrily.

John balls up his fists, flexing them open a moment later.

“I’m not talking about this with you. You didn’t want to listen to me when were married-” 

“We’re still married.”

He shook his head, but doesn’t respond because Sherlock poked his head out of the door. 

“Hi love.” Sherlock kissed him in greeting. His eyes are open and looking at me as if to provoke me. 

 

_Fuck you, you fucking spineless prick gobbler._

 

I roll my eyes again, and keep walking. “I hope you don’t do that in front of my daughter. She’s going to get the wrong idea about men and woman.” 

I grin to myself and keep walking straight to the nearest pub; in the door and right up to the bar. It’s overcrowded for a weekday.  

I tap my hands idly on the bar. A blond, sturdily built young man walks up to me.

“I don’t want a drink. I’m trying to decide which guy to pick up,” I say, holding my hand up. “But the bloody match is on and that always spells disaster for any potential bedmates.”

“All the straight ones are watching the match, all the gays ones are watching the straights, and the women just want to go home,” he says, with a smirk. “Sven.” 

“Mary.” I give an award-winning smile, and lean my chin on my hand. I very pointedly look him up and down.

He grins at me—message received—and tilts his head towards the back. My smile shifts. 

 _Jesus, I forgot how easy this was._  

I stand and follow Sven to the back.  Politely he stands aside to let me go into the dry storage first. He helps me sit on several cases of dusty beer.

“This place is pure class,” I say with a giggle.

 He joins in for a second, before he leans in to kiss me. It’s a sweet little kiss, and it makes me giggle again. 

“Aw, come on, impress a lady. Kiss me like you mean it.” I give him another grin.

He leans in again, and firmly kisses me. I stand up, and push him back against the far wall, crowding into his space to kiss him properly. He moans against my lips, and grabs a handful of my arse.

“Cheeky.” I laugh, as he kisses down my throat. I let my hand wander down to his groin. Through his sweatpant I rub my hand over his cock. It springs to life, and I can’t resist snaking my hand down his pants. He groans as he continues to kiss my neck.  

I stroke his cock with firm movements, and throw out a moan as he adds a bite. I stay focused on stroking him, using my other hand to hold him in place against the wall. He groans again, finally giving up mouthing at my neck.

“Fuck.” He says, as he comes.

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

I pull my hand out of his pants and wipe it off on his shirt.

“Clean yourself up,” I say as I stalk off to the bathroom. In the bathroom, I manage to find some strong soap to scrub my hands. I pull my phone out of my pocket.

 

_Fuck my life. It’s not even 17:30._

 

I tuck my phone back in my pocket, and walk out of the bathroom. I look around to see Sven- _Was that even his real name?-_ but he’s getting yelled at the manager. I quickly walk past them without making eye contact.

I find the nearest tube and throw myself into one. I end up at the house I used to share with John. Entering, everything looks the same. 

_If I was John, I would have torched the place. I still might._

I head up to our bedroom, and peel myself out of my disgusting clothing. Looking in the dresser  for something comfortable, I find an old t-shirt and boxers of John’s that I had stolen years back.

I head to the master bathroom, and start the shower. The undergarments come off first; I throw them into the dirty laundry bin. I step into the shower and turn my back to the shower head.

_There’s something about a hot shower that is so incredible. Hmmm. That water feels so good on my back._

Almost shyly, I run my hands over my breasts, tweaking my own nipples and moaning loudly. I’ve been horny for hours. 

_Jesus fuck. John kissing down my neck, his hard cock pressed against my arse. Fuck. I can almost feel it._

I let my right hand creep down to my cunt and comb through the hair there. I use my fingers to trace along the lips. “Jesus.”

I rake my nails down one thigh, then the other repeatedly until my clit gives a throb in a bid for my attention. I press my pointer finger into my warmth and appreciate how wet I am. I crook my finger, and hit my clit with a groan. I prop my right leg up on the side of the tub and rub my finger over the hard bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck, fuck.” I call out, still petting my clit. “Jesus christ.” I groan, undulating my hips, as I press out a rapid stacco beat. I pause the beat until the count of 10, then I start slowly again.

I grind my hips trying to get more pressure then I increase the beat, calling out. “Oh god! Jesus christ.”

I feel the orgasm building, so I pause the beat again. 

When I start to tap again, I start off faster than before increasing the feeling of the orgasm growing. I stop tapping, and switch my touch to a swirling motion as I rock my hips. I’m about to come, I can feel it. I use my free hand and reach up and pull my own hair with a particularly sharp tug as I swirl my fingers again. 

I feel my orgasm hit and it’s better than any recent orgasm. I press my fingers on my clit and quickly squeeze my legs together. 

Wave after wave of pleasure rolls through me, as I pant through the rush.

My breathing slows. I unclench my legs, and pull my hand out. I slowly turn around to the faucet with a cheerful, tuneless hum.

I finish my shower pretty quickly after that. I head out to the bedroom in my pj’s and threw myself down on my bed.

 

_Mmm. I could go for another one._

 

I reach into the dresser, and pull out my favorite vibrator. It’s blue, but it’s shaped like a flat ice cream scoop. I pull my boxers to the side and place it between my lips nestled against my clit. I take a deep breathe, and turn it on.

“Jesus!” I cry out as the vibrations hit me. Instantly, my hips start flexing into the vibration. I squeeze my thighs together to let the vibrator fuck me. I pant, writhe, and moan.  

_John’s mouth on my tits_

I tease myself by just running my fingertips over the stiff peaks through the shirt. I moan loudly, and increase the speed I rock my hips. 

“Fuck, fuck.” I pant, before I wet my fingers to pinch and rub my nipples. I reach down to adjust the vibrator so it’s hitting my clit. I bump up the speed. I use my free hand to tilt it towards my clit, then away from it.

Over and over I do this until I fall apart into pieces with a scream.

 

_Jesus. I can’t believe I just came again._

_I haven’t done that in years._

_John never tried for more than one._

_David always gave me three or four._

_But that one you just had-_

_Completely in the top five best orgasms ever._

 

“Hey, Mar?”

  _Fuck. John. Why is he here?_

 “Bedroom!” I call, pulling my vibrator out of me. I shove it under a pillow and hasten to head down stairs. “Where are you?” I call, as I take the steps two at a time.

“Kitchen.” He calls back.

  _Fuck._

I make my way over to the sink and vigorously scrub my hands. I see him take a step away from me, closer to the exit. I also notice a brown bag of groceries and a bright blue folder.

“I just wanted to talk to you but if you would prefer I’ll leave.”

“No, you don’t have to go,” I say, cautiously. “What did you bring?”

“Well, I know that you’ve been out of the country for a bit, so I’ve brought some groceries for you and Rosie.” He pauses here a minute. “You can still take her this weekend, correct?” 

“Yes, absolutely. I-” I cut myself off, then sigh. “I didn’t think you’d want me to after you saw the divorce agreement.”

“I haven’t seen it, but I-” he pauses, flexing his fists. “My lawyer was by the other day.” he sighs, then looks at me. He turns away from me and pulls a bottle of scotch. He grabs two shot glasses to pour us each a shot. He hands me mine and takes his. “Ok. You’ve got my full attention.”

I stare at him quizzically.

"What do you want, Mary? To hit me?" He tosses the shot back and scoffs when I don't understand. "Or what, kill me? Kill the things dearest to my heart? That’s really the same thing, you know."

“No! Why do you think that?” I ask, choking on my shot. 

“Because you obviously added the “never get married” clause because I hurt you.” 

“Well, yes, John. Now that you mention it, it hurt that you fucked Sherlock our entire marriage.” I admit, pushing my shot glass away. I start to dig through the grocery bag. Everything in here is something I love-not our daughter. 

John exhales, audibly. “That was a really shitty thing of me.” he admits.

I eye him suspiciously. He’s telling the truth. He can’t lie. He especially can’t lie to me. “I wish you had talked to me.” 

“I wanted to. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

I look him in the eye. “Did you ever love me?”

“Yes. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Just him more?” I ask, holding my breath.

“Differently,” John says, careful. “Loving you was like experiencing a quick summer thunderstorm. Loving him is like the London rain.” 

“Is this is because I’m so temperamental?”

“No, Mar. It’s because you’re downright mercurial.” John says with a laugh. “I can’t sign those divorce papers.” 

“I know. It was a rotten thing to do,” I agree. “I’ll have the clause removed first thing tomorrow morning.”

John clears his throat, and smiles his kindest smile. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“But?”

 “But.” John says, shaking his head. “This file changes everything.

“What is it?” 

He hands it to me, and I flip it open.

It’s a file, mostly in French. Most of the words I understand, but the words that really stand out to me translate to “arson”, “murder”, and “child.” I slide the file shut.

My stomach has fallen out of my body.

“How did you find this?” 

“Sherlock.”

“Of course.” I say, shaking my head. “I was eleven.” 

“Did you cause the house fire?” 

“No!” I deny, staring at him. “Never.” 

He glares at me, trying to tell if I’m lying. He squares his shoulders, then says, “I’d like you to give up your parental rights to Rosie.”  

It feels like John has just punched me.

 

_Is he really fucking serious about that? I didn’t cause the house fire. I was a victim._

_Oh._ I think, with a wave of nausea. _It doesn’t matter that I was a victim._

 _I was there and that’s enough to paint me with guilt._  

 

“John!”

 

I’m hurt.

I’m angry.

I’m disgusted.

I’m slightly proud of him. It’s absolutely everything I would have done.

 

He watches me process this information, and I realize he’s letting me think about it. Even though he knows that I’ll give him whatever he wants.

“John,” I say, with a dry mouth. “Do you think I did it?”

He looks at me, appraisingly. “I think that there’s not enough data to say either way. I know it’s enough to make me not want to leave my child with you.”

I nod at him, then pour another shot and drink it down. “Did you know about the fire before Sherlock?”

 

_I know that he threw the memory stick in the fire, but he’s never spoken about it before._

 

“I had no idea.” He says, with an honest look on his face. 

“If I give up my rights to be Rosie’s mother, will I still get to see her?” 

John shrugged. “Legally, you’ll have no further obligations to her. I don’t care if you never see her again, however I know that she feels differently.” He opens his hands, and tucks them in his pockets. “I’m going to let that up to her. If she wants to see you again, I’ll arrange it. If you don’t hear from me, you’ll know her decision.”  

I nod at him, thinking heavily.

 

_I’m going to survive this._

_I don’t need a man._

_I don’t need John._

_I can get through this._

_I need to do what is best for my daughter._

_She must grow up to be better than I am._

_Her name is Rosamund Mary Watson._

_She is my daughter, but she’ll grow up strong like John._

_This is the best thing for Rosie._

 

_My name is Mary._

_I’m a survivor._

_I will get through this._

 

“I’ll do whatever I need to do to set your mind at ease, John.”

“Even if it means never seeing Rosie again?” 

“If that’s what I need to do, I’ll do it.”

John nodded, then touched the table hesitantly. “Are you going to survive this, Mar?”

“Of course I am.” I fake a smile, feeling my insides tearing apart. “Are _you_ going to survive this?”

“Probably not,” He says with a laugh. I join him.

It feels so nice to actually laugh. “Oh, of course you will. You’ve been shot and came back to life.”

“Not as spectacularly as you did.” He smiles at me. The first real smile I’ve seen on him since Sherlock came back after the fall. 

I smile a sad smile, then shrug. “You never could pull off my style.”

“May I hug you, before I go?” John asks, studying me.

I nod, unable to trust my voice.

He closes the space between us and holds me for just the briefest second.

“Thank you for loving me even a little bit,” I say, sincerely.  

He hugs me tighter, but doesn’t reply in kind. “Good luck Mar.”

“Same to you, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the final chapter written, it's at my beta. I promise you it's coming and it's satisifying (it is for me AT LEAST)


	6. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story! 
> 
> THANK YOU HOLDT. Seriously I couldn't have done it without you. You're amazing and fabulous and I'm so fucking lucky to be your friend.

** JOHN **

 

I stand in my bedroom, slowly getting dressed for the most important day of my life.

 

When I finished basic training, they told me it was the most important day of my life.

When I graduated from medical school, they told me it was the most important day of my life.

When I married my ex-wife, I thought it was the most important day of my life.

When I delivered my daughter, I believed it was the most important day of my life.

When I got my divorce, the lawyer joked that it was the most important day of my life.

When my daughter got adopted by the man I love, it felt like the most important day of my life.

 

The things is, they _were_ the most important days of my life until that point.

 

However, _today_ is the most important day of my life.

 

I, John Hamish Watson, am finally getting married to William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

 

I turn to the mirror and straighten my collar.

 

Rosie had wandered in some time after I’d started getting dressed. She’s watched carefully, quietly. Now she speaks. “Dad, can you help me with my tie?”

 

“Ask your mum when she gets here. I’m rubbish with that bit.”

 

“So Mum is coming?” Rosie says, nervously. “I haven’t told her about my new last name.”

 

I shrug my suit jacket on. “Your mum suggested it.” I turn to check the mirror again.

 

“Mary Watson did?” Rosie sounds shocked.

 

“Yes, love,” I say, patiently. “Go fix your hair, please.”

 

Rosie grumbles, but finally leaves my bedroom.

 

“Hi Mum!” I hear from the open doorway. “Fix my tie?”

 

_Well, let’s get this over with._ I walk out onto the landing where Rosie’s standing.

 

I glance over to see Mary at the top of the steps. She’s dressed nicely, but not over the top. She’s slimmer, blonder, and happier than she’d ever been with me. _Good for her._

 

“I like your mohawk, kid,” Mary said, with a kind smile.

 

“Thanks, Mum. I gotta go spike it.”  Rosie looks at her Mum’s eyes and smiles. She wraps her arms around Mary’s waist and then disappears.

 

“Hello, John.”

 

“Hello, Mary.”

 

“You look happy.”

 

“Disgustingly so,” I agree, with a smile. I pull her into my arms. “Thank you so much for coming.”

 

“I can’t refuse the kid anything.”  She hugs me back, just as briefly, then releases me.

 

“Why do you think her hair looks like it does, Mar?”

 

“Her idea, I assume?”

 

“Mycroft calls her ‘my petite punk’ which is beyond appropriate.”

 

Mary laughs. “Yes it is.”

 

“What did her ballet teacher think?”

 

“She wasn’t too pleased with the princess, but they couldn’t talk her out of it.”  I sigh, then wiggle my tie at her. “Can you fix this?”   


She laughs at me again. “You’re going to have to learn to tie a tie one day.”

 

“No I won’t. You’ll teach Rosie soon and I think Mycroft knows how to do it.”  

 

She laughs, and finishes the infernal knot. “That’s all I know.”

 

I turn to walk into the bedroom, and take another quick look in the mirror. Bowtie neat and centre enough. _Decent._ I nod my head, “Perfect work, Mar.”

 

“Thanks John.” She smiles, looking around the room. “Does she know about her new last name?”

 

“Of course she does. Sherl can’t keep his mouth shut for a goddamn minute,” I say, good naturedly.

 

“Mary?” Sherlock calls coming up the steps.

 

“Hey Sherlock.” She turns out of the room to see him walking towards her.

 

“Finally here, I see.I need help with this.” Sherlock wiggles his scrap of bowtie imperiously at Mary.

 

I hold my breath, but Mary merely gives him a practiced and indulgent once-over, a _motherly_ look. She rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Come here, you.”

 

He steps over to her, eyes raking up my suit.  “God, John Watson, you’re delicious.”

 

“It’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

 

“Nope,” Mary says, with a laugh. “It’s bad luck to see the bride. Since I don’t see one, I think you’re good.”

 

“Mary,” Sherlock is insistent. “Have you seen that child’s mohawk?”

“Not spiked up, yet.”

 

“Wait until you do. She’s so proud of it. I know that John would never wear a ‘hawk, so I’ve been calling her Mini-Mary.”

 

“I never had a mohawk, but I did have a couple perms.” She laughs.

 

Sherlock meets Mary’s eyes. “You know that John’s a total cock, right? He bullies me all the time.”

 

“You love it, Sherlock.” She grins. “Are you taking care of him? You know he’s a total idiot sometimes. Doesn’t know his head from a hole in the ground.”

 

He nods disappointedly. “Always needs someone to hold his hand when he’s crossing the street.” With a pat, Mary finishes her work and looks him over again.

 

“Better. Good thing you’re there to care for him. Thinks with his cock, that one,” she points out, smoothing out his suit.

 

_That’s enough of that._  I interrupt them. “You look tasty, Sherl.”

 

“Jealous type.” Sherlock nods towards Mary.

 

“You guys!” I whine, with a grin. I sounded like my fiance when I said it, so I hope they heard it too.   


“John,” Mary says firmly. “You really need to start behaving like Sherlock.”

 

“Yeah, John.” Sherlock said, pulling my name into a whined out ‘Jawn’.

 

“Did I slide into some weird parallel universe where you two are chums now?” I try to joke. Mary shifts uncomfortably. Sherlock’s eyebrows bob and he turns to me.

 

“Love, do _try_ to be kind to our guests.”

 

“I am kind! We were joking!”

 

Mary shakes her head, smiled locked in place. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m going to head down there. Congratulations, you two.” She takes a small step towards me and I pull her into a crushing hug.

 

“Thank you so much for everything. For Rosie. For the tie. For today. For the divorce. For saving my life. For being the Mum Rosie needs you to be.” Tears leak out as I speak.

 

She squeezes me tightly. “You’re welcome, John.” I hear a bit of a sniffle.

 

“Oh, come on you guys. Keep your emotions in check.” Sherlock interrupts  us as he wipes tears from his own face. She releases me and hugs Sherlock once before she leaves.

 

“Mind the bees!” he calls as she walks away.

 

I chuckle, and pull him into my arms, leaning against the door frame to our bedroom. “Wanna go make out before I get married? I don’t have a ring on my finger yet.”

 

“That ring never stopped you before,” Sherlock says, with a large grin before he leans in to kiss me. I pull away from the kiss.

 

“You cock!”

 

“Oi!” Rosie calls, choosing _now_ to make her appearance. “The language is upsetting, but I’m most disappointed that you two are kissing and not even married yet.” Her hair was carefully arranged in a mohawk.

 

“What kind of example are you two heathens setting for your daughter, my dear niece?” Mycroft joins us at the landing. “Come here, niece,” he says. “Allow me to shield your eyes.”

 

“Don’t you dare, Uncle Myc. You’ll mess the ‘hawk up.”

 

Mycroft chuckles at her mischievous grin, then looks back at us.

 

“Congratulations, John.” He looks genuinely happy to see me. “It’s about time you made an honest man of my brother. He is nearly 40 after all.”

 

“I’m 42!” Sherlock says in his defense. He sticks his tongue out at Mycroft. “And you’re just mad because John’s managed to make me an honest man when you couldn’t even get me to behave.”

 

“Boys,” I interrupt the pissing contest. “Just stop, the both of you. It’s my wedding day.”

 

“Yeah, your second one. My first one.” Sherlock smiles at us. “Therefore I need to get my way in all things.”  


“All you wanted was a bee wedding cake and the homeless network,” Rosie chimes in. “That’s what you got.”

 

“Mycroft, you spoiled your brother ruthlessly growing up.That’s why he’s a princess now.”

 

“Princess Lockie!” Rosie smiles, agreeing. “Shall I go get your crown?”

 

“I’m not a princess. I’m the queen!” Sherlock says, with a laugh.

 

“Are you two ready to wed?” Mycroft rolls his eyes. I’m surprised he didn’t add ‘I can’t believe I’m cursed with a brother like this’.

 

What he says is, “We need to move before Mummy and Daddy come up the stairs to see what the hold up is.”

 

“Are we late?” I follow my family down the stairs.

 

“Nearly four minutes already.”

 

“Excellent.” Sherlock grins, then takes my hand. We all walk to the back door. Mycroft opens them and looks around. Someone starts the music (which is the Wedding March recorded by Sherlock and his masterful violin). Mycroft and Rosie make the short walk down the aisle, with their arms linked.

 

“Our girl looks so good with her uncle.” I glance over at Sherlock with a grin. He’s staring at me, crying.

 

“John. We’re finally getting married.”

 

I take both of my hands and wipe his cheeks free of the tears. “You sentimental fool. I told you I’d marry you.”

 

“I didn’t believe you!” Sherlock says, wiping his eyes. “I mean, I did, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”

 

“Sherl, it’s been four years since I got divorced.” I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his cheek. “Come on, lad. Get it together.”

 

“Shan’t. It’s my wedding day.”

 

I chuckle. “You need a minute?”

 

“Oh, I don’t care who sees me crying. I want to be your husband.”

 

He takes one last swipe at his eyes, then clasps my hand as we walked up the aisle together. He stands to the left of the justice of the peace and I come to attention on the right.

 

“Welcome all to the union of Sherlock and John. This ceremony is going to be brief. John, would you start by making your vow?”

 

“It’s taken us eleven years to finally be here. I wish I had the right words to say. I’d wax poetically about your beauty, and I’d write tomes on your giant brain. I’ve already said what I needed to say the day you signed the adoption papers. So I’ll just make the same promise I made before.” I say, placing one of my hands on his gorgeous cheekbones.

 

I look him in the eyes, and feel my own eyes tear up.

 

“To my King, my consulting detective, I love you. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, it seems we’re playing the game for life.”

 

I pull the ring out of my pocket, and slip it on his finger, before I turn his palm over and kiss it.

 

He pulls my hand up to his mouth and kisses it.

 

Sherlock looks at me, again, tears still present. “I wanted to do something stupid and sentimental because you enjoy those kinds of things, but Rosie and Mycroft both advised against it.”

 

A gentle chuckle goes through the crowd.

 

“I can’t make any other vows that I haven’t made already. I’ll protect you and Rosie until I’m dead. I promise to put the spoiled experiments in the trash. I’ll bring you tea when you ask. I’ll try to remember to buy milk. The solar system can sod off.”

 

“Inappropriate, Dad!” Rosie says, with a laugh.

 

“Yes, fine. Inappropriate,” he says, waving his hands. “I’ll continue to live my life by your side, as an equal.” He pulls a ring out of his pocket, and slips it on my finger. “I know love is just a chemical defect that people are slaves to because they suffer from low self-esteem— ” Sherlock cuts himself off after he notices my disapproving look.

 

“A bit not good?” He asks me.

 

I nod to confirm his words. “Try again?”

 

“I want to do science with you. I want to solve puzzles with you. I want to wake up in the morning and see your crazy hair across the pillow. I want to lay in a meadow with you watching my bees fly by.”

 

“Say it,” I command him, taking his hands. “Say you love me best of all.”

 

“I love you John.” He smirks at me, before I kiss his cheek. “I didn’t even get to talk about how great in bed you are!”

 

“Inappropriate,” Mycroft says, softly.

 

“Stuff it Myc.”

 

“Be nice, Sherlock. It’s your wedding day.” I remind him, gently.

 

“Can we kiss now?” Sherlock whines, with a grin.

 

I smile at him, and pull Sherlock’s face closer to mine. I stare at his gorgeous face. “I adore you so much, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

I pull his face to mine and press his lips to mine. He wraps his arms around me to deepen the kiss. Mycroft cleared his throat in a subtle “stop that” hint. I feel Sherlock grin against me and kiss me deeper.

 

“Sherlock!” Mycroft hisses as the crowd laughed. Greg sent out a wolf whistle.

 

I pull away from him with a laugh.

 

He has tears in his eyes, but he’s grinning too. “I adore you too, John Holmes, you cock-”

 

The justice must have realized that it was going to end poorly, so he announces us. “It gives me great pleasure to announce for the first time, Dr. and Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

 

I grin at him, and hold up our hands. We walk back to the party tent, and wait for our guests to join us.

 

Rosie and Mycroft approach me first, together. “Daddy! I’m so happy for you!” she grins, hugging me around the neck. Then she hugs Sherlock, and kisses his cheek. “It’s about time, Dad.”

 

“Congratulations, Dr. John Holmes.” Mycroft kisses the top of my head. He looks at Sherlock. “Brother mine. I’m so happy for you.”

 

“Are you, truly?” Sherlock asks, with a bit of disbelief.

 

“Yes.” Mycroft smiles, and pulls him into a hug. “I love you Sherl-”

 

“Ugh stop. I can’t do this.” Sherlock says, wiggling out of Mycroft’s arms.

 

Mummy and Daddy Holmes are the first ones after Mycroft and Rosie join us.

 

“Oh, Lockie!” she says, wiping her eyes. She wraps her sons in a hug, released Mycroft, and drew me in. “My boys!”

 

“Mum.” Sherlock groans, rolling his eyes at her, but catching my eyes at the same time.

 

“My darling baby boy!”

 

“John!” Sherlock’s dad exclaims with a smile. He pulls me into his arms, and slaps my back. “It’s about time you and Sherlock settled down. You boys have been together for how long now? Fifteen years?”

 

“Not quite that long, sir.”

 

“I’m so happy for you both. You’ll have to meet with our lawyers soon. You get an awful big dowry for marrying him.”

 

“I don’t want a dowry.”

 

“Sorry, my boy.” He slaps me on the arm. “That’s not in your control. Rosie gets one too.”

 

“Sherl?” I ask Sherlock.

 

“You got a dowry for actually marrying me. My brother has one too, but I think he turned it into a trust fund for Rosie.” Sherlock shrugs at me.

 

“I’m going to choose to discuss this later because 100% of those words meant nothing to me.” I shake my head at Dad, as if to say ‘Jesus! How these rich people live’.

 

“I’m getting money?” Rosie chimes in.

 

“You are darling girl. When you turn 17.” Mycroft grins at us. “For your schooling.”

 

I look away and shake my head. Greg was waiting to jump in. I smile at him.

“Hey, John,” he grins as he hugs me. “I can’t believe the mad bastard finally hooked you.”

 

“That mad bastard is so fucking lucky I enjoy him even a little some days.”

 

“I heard that.”

 

“You should hear it!” I say. “Greg, my friend. I’m so glad you could make it. It makes me really happy to see you here. Did you bring someone?”

 

Greg glances over at Mycroft, and turns a bit pink. “I was hoping to meet someone here.”

 

“Good luck.” I hug Mycroft gently.

 

He hugs me back, and moves on to Sherlock. I turn to the next person, Mrs. Hudson.

 

“Oh, John. Today’s just been beautiful,” Mrs. Hudson says, glancing behind her to see if Mary can hear her. “Much better than the first one.”

 

“Thank you!”

 

“God bless-”

 

“Don’t bring God into this,” Sherlock reminds her. “We’re scientists.”

 

“I still pray for you, John,” Mrs. Hudson says, hugging me. “And you too, Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“Thank you for coming, Mrs. H.” She releases me, and I turn to Molly. “Hello, darling.”

 

“Hi, John!” she says, cheerfully. “Congratulations. You’re smiling.”

 

“I am smiling. I’m happy.”

 

“I’m glad,” Molly says. I can see the sadness in her eyes. I pull her into my arms and hold her tightly.

 

“It’s ok if you are a little sad. I will take care of him. I always have.”

 

“I know you will. Part of me wishes it was me, but since it’s not, I’m so glad it’s you,” she whispers in my ear.

 

I squeeze her tightly. “I wish I could say that I wish it were you, but I don’t, Mol. I fought for him and I plan on keeping him.”

 

“I know, John. I’m just being selfish. I’m really happy for you.”

 

I nod, and squeeze her again. “Thank you for coming Mol.”

 

She pulls away from me and steps over to Sherlock with a smile.

 

I turn to the next person, and it’s my ex-wife.

 

“Hi John.”

 

“Hello, dear.” I pull her into my arms.

 

Sherlock elbows us. “Oi!”

 

“Relax, you giant git. I’ve already had my turn.” Mary laughs. “I’m beyond thrilled for you two.” She glances at Sherlock, who is listening to everything being said. “Even if it means you have to wake up to Sherlock’s messy hair everyday.”

 

“His curls are perfect when he wakes up.” I grin, with a glance at him. He’s pink in his cheeks. Wonder what Molly’s saying to him.

 

“Bloody bastard,” Mary agrees. “I’m so glad you invited me. It was fantastic to see Mycroft lose his shit.”

 

“Wasn’t it? I bet we won’t see him for a month of Sundays now.”

 

“Oh, I doubt that. Look at how he dotes on Ro.”

 

“You called her Ro!” I exclaim.

 

“She lets me, now.”

 

“Mar!” I say, pulling her into another hug. “That’s awesome.”

 

“My turn,” Sherlock says, pulling Mary into a hug.

 

“Oh, stop your smiling.”

 

“Shan’t. It’s my wedding day. I’m allowed to smile,” he says, before kissing her head.

 

“Hi brother,” my sister, Harry shyly says.

 

“Harry! Hi! I’m so glad you made it!”

 

“Auntie Harry!” Rosie squealed and ran over to attack her with hugs. “I’m so glad you came!”

 

“I only have a few hours away from the facility.”

 

“Rehab again,” Sherlock mutters in my ear.

 

“I’m incredibly thankful you came, sis.”

 

“Thank you for inviting me, John. I’m sorry about my clothes.” She runs her hands over her jeans and t-shirt, nervously.

 

“That’s the last thing you need to worry about.”

 

“Auntie, come with me! I’ll introduce you to everyone,” Rosie pulls her Aunt towards the main table where most people are seated.

 

“So, husband mine,” Sherlock’s silky voice is in my ear, as he presses himself to my back. He wraps his arms around my waist, and noses my the curve of my ear. “What now? Sex time?” He runs his nose from the top of my ear down to my neck, snaking his hands down to my groin. I press my hands into his, to make him stop.

 

“No, love,” I groan, as he runs his tongue along the pulse point under my jaw.

 

“John,” he breathes, drawing out my name. “Please, can you fuck me?”

 

I tinge red, and wiggle out of his grasp. I place my hand his chest, with a glance down. “Nice tent, husband.” I walk over to the main table and slide into a seat.

 

“Here’s one of the grooms!” Greg shouts, grabbing up his beer mug. “To John Holmes!”

 

Everyone else picks up glasses and clinks them together. Sherlock uses the ensuing din to slide in next to me. I reach under the table, and brush my hand against his hard on.

 

“Accident, sir. My apologies,” I murmur, resting my hand on his thigh.

 

“To Sherlock Holmes!” Molly calls for another toast, holding her glass up. Everyone follows suit  and takes a drink again.

 

Mycroft clears his throat. “Since it’s such an informal ‘do, I’m going to give my best man speech now.”

 

“You don’t have to say anything, Myc,” Sherlock says, looking at him. “In fact, I’d like you not to speak.”

 

“Well, I’m going too,” Mycroft says. “I have two lives. One is my life, the government work, Mummy and Daddy, and other personal entanglements,” He glances at Greg and smiles softly. “Then there’s this other life I have. It’s my Sherlockian life.”

 

Everyone laughs at that, and I smile at my husband. “Me too,” I mouth at him.

 

“Ever since Sherlock was born, he managed to drag me into any and all trouble that’s usually swirling around him. One time, he stole an entire pie from the kitchen because he was bored. He must have been four or five.”

 

“Three,” Sherlock corrects him.

 

“I caught him sitting in the playroom happily shoveling pie in his face. I wanted to correct him, such a naughty little pie theft. I couldn’t though because those big brown eyes looked up at me in glee and said, ‘Want some pie, Mycy?’ I sat down and joined him just as Cook found us. She went to snatch Sherlock by the ear, and drag him from the room. Lazily, I looked up at her, and said, ‘Don’t you touch my brother or I’ll tell Mummy’. She stomped out of the room to bring Daddy back. Daddy just laughed at Cook, and sat down with us. After the pie was finished, he pulled me aside to give me the first of many ‘Sherlock is special, you need to protect him— ‘ speeches.

 

“I don’t need protection,” Sherlock interrupts stubbornly. I squeeze his thigh to get him to behave. Not that he’ll listen.

 

“Something I did for years,” Mycroft continues, serenely. “Every time there was a blip on Sherlock’s trouble radar, I got rid of it before he could interfere, then one day. He meets this ex-Army doctor and suddenly, he starts taking care of his own trouble. Although I’m sure most of it was John. Sorry, brother dear,” Mycroft pats Sherlock’s arm kindly. “Once he met John, it was like a connection had been forged that he didn’t care about the troublesome things anymore. Then, my stupid reckless idiotic brother ran away from the person who’s loves him more than I do. He disappeared for two years. True, the work he did was valuable and needed, but it killed him.”

 

“It killed me too,” I admit, burying my face in Sherlock’s shoulder.

 

“When he came back, Sherlock had expected John to be waiting for him, but John Watson- Sorry, dear brother. John Holmes waits for no one, especially not Sherlock Holmes. This was one mess I couldn’t fix for my favorite human. He was inconsolable. He broke so many vases. He disabled no less than seventeen different cell phones because I was too obvious in my worry.”

 

“Dad hates when you worry about him,” Rosie chimes in, with a grin.

 

“So, John,” Mycroft grins at me, and picks up a glass. “I pass the torch onto you. It is your job to keep him safe now. Good luck and don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

 

Everyone around the table laughs Sherlock wipes his eyes. Petulantly, he insists, “I didn’t ask for your protection.”

 

“Lockie,” Mummy Holmes said, disapprovingly. “You are so naughty. Your Mycy loves you.”

 

“Yes, Mum,” Sherlock says, with an eye roll. “Thank you, Myc. That was lovely.”

 

I look at Sherlock to ensure those words came from his mouth. Then I look at Mycroft. “Ta, cheers brother.”

 

Next, Rosie stands up.

 

“Hi. I am Rosie Holmes. Today my dads got married. It feels like it should be a big day but they already love each other and live together,” She shrugs with a glance at me, then at Sherlock. “So maybe it’s just a normal day with cake. But Daddy asked me to write a speech and Mummy said it would be a nice thing to do. Since I am Sherlock’s daughter, and I don’t always understand why things are socially appropriate, I’ll take their words at it. So here we are.”

 

“Honey,” I say, with a smile. “You don’t have to do this.”

 

“Yes I do, Dad. Mummy and I worked hard on this speech,”

 

Mary nods her encouragement.

 

“Sorry, darling. Carry on.”

 

She sighs, and picks up a note card. “So in my nearly ten years on this earth I have done a lot of fun things. I raise bees, I dance ballet, and I am currently writing a novel.”

 

“A novel? Lockie! She must be your daughter!” Dad says, with a grin.

 

“Yes, Pap, I am,” Rosie smiles at her adopted grandfather. Mummy Holmes was already dabbing her eyes after her son’s speech. “But, everything I am, and everything I do comes back to the two men in my life, John and Sherlock. I affectionately refer to them both as ‘Dad.’”

 

I smile at my daughter, as I see Sherlock hastily wipe another tear from his eyes.

 

“Every bit of my life is colored by them, and I like to believe I am the best of them. I am brave, caring, and articulate like Daddy.”

 

Sherlock places his hand on mine.

 

“I am cunning, smart, and creative like Dad,” Mrs. Hudson reaches across me to touch Sherlock’s arm. He was crying, letting tears stream down his face. I place my hand on top of hers.

 

“But together, these men are an unstoppable force of nature. Watching my dads come together over the last few years has been nothing short of amazing.”

 

She glances to Mary, and then back to me.  “While I love my Mum and I know it hurt her the way it happened, I am so glad to see happiness in my Daddy’s eyes these days. My Daddy is my hero. When I grow up, if I’m half the woman he is man, the world will be better.”

 

Sherlock grips my arm tightly. “She’s talking about you, John.”

 

“Me, love?” I ask her to confirm.

 

“Yes, you Daddy.”  She slips over to me, and wraps her arms around my neck. “I love you Daddy.”

 

“I love you too,” I say, feeling the tears slipping down.

 

“So,” she says, hiding her face in my neck. “When I say— ” She sniffles. “I couldn’t be happier for my Dads, I really— ” She sniffles again, pulling Sherlock into her arms. “Mean that there’s no one one more deserving of Daddy’s happiness than my own Dad. I love you both. Congratulations.”

 

A loud round of applause sounded from outside of the table. I turn around in my seat to look. Most of Sherlock’s homeless network had gathered around to hear the speeches. They were all grinning, and clapping. One by one, they each walk up to Sherlock and touch his shoulder, then mine.

 

I lay my head on Sherlock’s shoulder, as they show us respect.

 

“Oi, Wiggins!” Greg calls, as he sees one of his informants. “I need to talk to you before you leave.”

 

“Idiot,” Sherlock says. “You know he’s going to run now.”

 

“Of course I am,” Wiggins says, as he removes his hand from my shoulder. “Dr. Watson, a word, please?” he asks me.

 

I nod, and follow him. He stops abruptly and holds his hand out to me. “Dr. I wanted to take a moment to thank you for your kind invitation to the wedding. We don’t have nothing to give you in thanks, but we just wanted to let you know that you married the best man. He’s kind, generous, caring, and loves you best in this whole world. None of us would be here if it weren’t for Shezza. Just take care of him. That’s all we ask.”

 

I nod, hold my hand out to Wiggins. “I will.” He shakes my hand.

 

“I haven’t told the others about your temper either, Dr. My wrist is healed nicely, no thanks to you.”

 

“It was a sprain.”

 

“So you keep saying,” He nods, then walks off.

 

I shake my head, and turn to go back to the group. Sherlock is there and he crowds into my space pushing me back against a pole supporting the tent.  Delicately he runs his long fingers down my cheek to grasp my neck. “I want you, Mr. Holmes. I want you above me, panting and whining, thrusting into me.”

 

“Mr. Holmes!” I gasp, as his words go straight to my cock. He takes his other hand, and palms my cock through my trousers. “Stop! It’s my Wedding Day. You can’t feel me up like a cheap two pound hooker in the corner.”

 

“Course I can,” he purrs in my ear, kissing along the edge of my ear. “God, I love your ears. Freckled and darling.”

 

“Sherl, stop.” I whine, as he pulls my fly down and slips his fingers in the hole.

I’m panicking.

 

“God, John. Your cock is so hard already.” He moves his body closer to mine as his fingers brush my head. He lets them wonder down my shaft to my balls. He gently feather touches each one and then fists my cock.

 

“You’re breathing on my neck,” I whisper, biting a mouthful of collar as his clever fingers stroke my cock.

 

“John,” he groans. His breath hot in my ear, his fingers running up and down my cock. He presses at the head before firmly stroking down. “You are the most delicious treat. All day I’ve wanted to get my hands on you.”

 

“Sherlock,” I moan with a mouth full of collar. His fingers dance over my sensitive skin. I bite his shoulder harder, to keep myself quiet.

 

“I’m going to suck your dick so hard tonight. Good thing Rosie’s going to her Mum’s for a few weeks,” Sherlock promises me, as his clever fingers stroke me. “Come for me, John, you’re a good boy. I know you can!” Quietly he encourages me, tugging harder and faster on my cock. “Come on, slut.” I hear _Sir_ come out, even for just a moment. It’s all I need to let go. I come, squirting ropes of ejculate all over in the inside of my pants and onto Sherlock’s hand.  

 

“Sherlock,” I try to moan, as I do so, but it’s muffled because I’m biting his suit hard. I pant into his shoulder, riding out the high. He pets my head with one hand, and pulls the come covered one up to his mouth. Slowly he starts licking his fingers like he’s sucking my cock. I watch him in awe, feeling my mouth go dry. “Mr. Holmes, you filthy heathen.” I breathe, then look over his shoulder. We’re blocked off from everyone’s view.

 

“ _Your_ filthy heathen,” he says as he finishes cleaning his own hand. He leans in and kisses me. I discreetly tuck myself away and pull up my fly.

 

“Ugh, Sherlock.” Mycroft’s voice cuts in. He’s disgusted and it’s an absolutely delicious feeling. “Can you leave your husband alone for two minutes?”

 

“Mine,” Sherlock says, with a growl before he turns to his brother.

 

Mycroft looks him up and down. He takes a moment to process what he’s seeing before he spits out. “You’re a pig. We’re in public! Mummy— ”

 

“Oh, hang Mummy. She and Daddy used to have sex in public all the time. Those nude beaches weren’t really nude.”

 

“She’s a lady. She would never.”

 

I lean in and wrap my arms around my husband’s waist. “I think that Sherlock had to learn his, tricks from somewhere. They’re not all from you brother, dear,” I speak up behind Sherlock’s back.

 

I feel Sherlock’s body rock in laughter. “Mycroft, why are you over here?”

 

“Gregory wondered where you got off too. So I came to in— ”

 

“If you would like to suck his cock,” I say, still cradling my husband from behind. “May I suggest this corner we’re currently standing in? If you stand still enough and quiet enough, no one will notice.”

 

Sherlock’s body rocks in laughter again. I press my grin to his back. Mycroft stares at both of us. “Oi, Greg!” Sherlock wolf calls our friend. Greg grins at us, and ambles over.

 

“He’s tipsy, brother mine. Do mind your teeth,” Sherlock instructs. “Hi Graham.”

 

“It’s Greg,” he says, automatically. More out of habit than anything. He’s too blasted to be annoyed.

 

“Meet Mycroft. Mycroft likes to suck cock. He deduces that yours is larger than average and very good for sucking. Why don’t you be a lamb and let him? Come, John. We’ve got more chaos to create.”

 

I stifle my laughter into his back. He pulls me away from our friends, and we go back over to the table. I sit next to Rosie, and she grins at me. Sherlock slides into the seat next to our daughter. “Auntie Harry was just telling me about how when you were a kid and you would play doctor on all her wounds.”

 

“Johnny always wanted to be a doctor. Even since he broke his arm when he was 4.”

 

“Dad broke my arm at 4, Harry. He threw me down the steps because I woke him up.” I clarify, my ears turning a bit pink.

 

“Why would he do that, Johnny?” Harry asks me, appalled.

 

“Our Dad was a very mean man, Harry. Don’t you remember?”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“I’m glad you don’t,” I say, then look around the table. Everyone is staring at me. “Hi everyone,” I say, a bit surprised. My cheeks are pink, but it’s from the attention not the subject matter.

 

“John, I didn’t know,” Sherlock starts, then stops. “I know why you didn’t say anything- but you’re not him,” It seems like Sherlock’s mouth can’t keep up with his brain.

 

“First time your mouth couldn’t keep up,” I grin at him.

 

“John. I’m your husband. You never told me your dad abused you.”

 

“You never shut up long enough to listen,” Mary pipes up, with a self-satisfied, cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. She knew because she listened to my childhood tales. She heard what I didn’t say.

 

“Dad,” Rosie says, looking crestfallen. “I’m so sorry,” She comes over to me and buries her face in my shoulder.

 

“Hey, relax. It’s ok, kid. That’s ancient history,” I kiss her top of her head. “Well, Harry may remember me wanting to be a doctor, but I remember her wanting to be a ballerina.”

 

“What?” Harry says, laughing. “I’ve never ever danced before.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what Mum said,” I laugh. “Did you eat, baby?” I tip Rosie’s chin up to look at her face.

 

“No, Daddy.”

 

“Why don’t you go get yourself a plate?”

 

“Come with me, Daddy,” Rosie demands, grabbing my hand. She pulls me up to the buffet table, and we get our food. She’s clingy as we walk back. She sits right next to me, and pulls her chair closer to me.  

 

“Hey, it’s ok, love. You don’t need to be so clingy. Everything’s fine.”

 

“I know, Daddy.”

 

I look at her eating, and she’s really just pushing food around on her plate. I tap her hand with mine. She looks up in my eyes, to see the question there. _Are you ok?_

 

She shakes her head no, and signs “Too many dreams.”

 

No, not dreams.

 

Thoughts.   


“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, in a low murmur.

 

She shakes her head, “No.” Then she sighs. “Your dad’s a jerk.”

 

“Was. Suicide,” I murmur.

 

She looks at my face, and then at Sherlock. “Dad didn’t know?”  

 

“No, honey. I didn’t intend to tell you either. If your Auntie hadn’t told my secret, you’d never have known.”

 

“She doesn’t seem to remember it, but she’s older than you.”

 

I nod, then put my arm around Rosie, shifting closer. “Do you remember when we talked about how some people are addicts and literally can never get enough? Some people it’s drugs, some people it’s books, other’s it— ”

 

“Dad is addicted to adrenaline.”

 

“Yes, amongst other things. Auntie Harry is addicted to alcohol. Sometimes when the addiction is bad, it causes bits of your memory to disappear. It’s really good for her that she forgot how mean he was. She shouldn’t have to carry that around with her,” I smile kindly at my daughter. She snuggles into my arms, and hugs me around my chest.

 

“You’re nothing like him, Daddy.”

 

“Thank you, darling.”

 

Ro pulls her arms away from me, and sits back in her seat. She picks up her fork and takes a bite. “Not as good as yours, Daddy.”

 

“Thank you, buggy girl. What do you think you and Mum will do in Paris?”

 

“Mum! What’s the plan for Paris?” she calls, and we all look across the table to her.

 

Mary smiles kindly, and puts her fork down to talk. “Well, we’re going to see Cam first, remember? Four days in Ireland, then heading to Greece for about five days. Next, we’re going to Japan for 3 days, then Australia for three days.”

 

“Geeze, Rosie. You’re going to be tired,” I say, knowing full well that Rosie choose to do this.

 

“New Zealand for four days! We’re going to see Hobbiton,” Rosie exclaims excitedly.  


“Then we’re going back to Paris. John’s going to meet us in Germany,” Mary says, still directing her comments to our daughter.

 

“Then Dads and I are going to America for three months. Daddy’s doing a book tour. It’s going to be so much fun,”  Rosie adds, with a smile.

 

“I write books, too,” Sherlock complains.

 

“Yes, love. Your bee books were fantastic.” I smile at him.

 

“Johnny, I read your latest one and I have to tell you, the names for the cases. They’re horrible!” Harry says, with a laugh. She pushes her plate away from herself.

 

“I hate them, too,” Sherlock agrees. “Greg thinks they’re clever.”

 

“Enough out of you!” I command.

 

A swell in the music catches our attention. They’re playing ‘ _December’_ by The Four seasons. Sherlock grins slyly at me, before he turns to Rosie. “Want to dance, kiddo?”

 

“Yes!” Rosie smiles, and runs off to dance with her dad.

 

Harry comes around to my side of the table. “I’m going to head out. I don’t want to ruin this chance I’ve got.”

 

I stand up, and hug her. “Goodbye Harry. I’m so glad you could make it. Do you want me to walk you out?”  


“Oh, no. I know the way. Thank you again.”

 

I walk over to where my ex-wife, sit in the seat next to her, and glance her. “You doing ok?”

 

“Yes, John. I am. Congratulations, you idiot,”  Mary says, with a smile. “Thank you for letting me take Rosie for so long.”

 

“No problem, dear. I meant it when I said if she wants you in her life, you’d know it.”

 

“Look at those two,” Mary says, ignoring my comment. I follow her eyes to see Sherlock and Rosie dancing like fools. “Who knew that the last time we listened to this song our lives would become what they are?”

 

“Not I,” I admit. “I’m so glad you’re still in my life, even if only remotely.”

 

“I realized something. Today when I saw the two of you at the altar— ”

 

“Not an altar. Just a meeting place.”

 

“When I saw the two of you exchange vows, I realized why it never would have worked with us.”

 

“Oh, what’s that?” I ask, wondering where she’s going with this.

 

“Well, besides the obvious facts that I’m too good looking and smart for you. There was this whole thing where you are in love with Sherlock bloody Holmes. I was so blind for not seeing it earlier. I wish it had gone differently, but I’m so glad you’re happy now. Plus- we get to raise this great kid together.”

 

I agree with her nodding. “So tell me about Paris.”

 

“Nothing to tell. I have a few friends, I’m in a book club, and I love my job at the embassy.”

 

“Are you still with that ex-pat from America?”

 

“Frank?” She laughs. “Oh, no. I was never really with him. It was just sex.”

 

“It sounds like you’re doing well.”

 

“I am. I can’t wait to have Rosie for a month,” She slaps me playfully. “And you, Mr. hotshot book writer! All sorts of good things coming from your book.”   


I look down at my hands, and fiddle with my ring. “I never wanted to write about us, but it was such a good tale.”

 

“No, you couldn’t re-publish _A Study in Pink._ Most of your readers can quote that word for word.”

 

“Plus, any tale where the main character gets cooked in a bonfire is high quality entertainment.”

 

Mary laughs, then stares at our child dancing. I get lost in my own thoughts—

_Jesus, my husband’s a giant dork. I hope Rosie doesn’t take after him. Shit. She does, doesn’t she_ —    

— when Mary’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “John, I’m so glad you divorced me. My life has improved tenfold.”

 

“Mine, too, Mar,” I agree as I watch my husband and daughter dance _._

 

_Oh, what a night indeed._

 

 

_ MARY _

__  
  


A loud crack of thunder is what wakes me up. I force one eye open to see it jump across the sky. I force the other one open, and sit up. Yawning, I stand up, and head over to my window seat. I climb up, pulling a blanket over me before I push the window open with a glance skyward. It’s vibrant shades of purple and muted shades of gray swirled together, almost in combat with each other. 

The sense of peace that I’ve fought for recently is fragile enough to feel threatened, but strong enough to withstand the comparison forming in the back of my brain.

_ Leaving London behind to start a new life in Paris was the third best thing I could have done for myself.  _

_ Exiting a broken beyond repair relationship was the second best thing I did. _

_ Fixing the broken relationship with my daughter was the best thing I ever did.  _

_ To celebrate the best thing I ever did? The Louvre tomorrow with Rosie!  _

At the thought of my daughter, I glance back towards the bedroom. With one last glance out the window, I pull it shut and lock it. I head back to the bedroom, and discard the window blanket as I go. Quietly, I crawl back in bed, and feel a small body roll over onto me. I reach over and brush her hair out of her face.

__  
“I love you, kid. I’m so glad you’re here with me.”    


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story. Comments and Kudos are appreciated. Whatever you want to do my dears! Thank you for reading!


End file.
